


Babymaker

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Breeding, Childbirth, Come Inflation, Double Penetration, Impregnation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Nipple Play, Omega Castiel, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Ritual Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Training, birth kink, labor, non-con/dub-con elements, underage (teenage implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a response to the spn_kink meme prompt beginning; "Jensen/OMCs; ritualized sex, mpreg, body horror--Every seven years a teenager from Jensen's village is chosen to become the embodiment of the fertility goddess worshipped in their culture. At the summer solstice festival, the teen is prepared with oils and ungents and during the great ritual every male in the village has intercourse with the chosen one who is impregnated. This ritual usually leads to twins or triplets at least. The more babies the chosen one is impregnated with, the better fortune is associated with it -- better crops and weather, etc. The babies are born in the spring, and the chosen one nurses for them for eight weeks or so before they are adopted out by families of the village and the chosen one is prepared for the festival again and again, year after year for seven years before another is chosen." </p><p>It is inexcusably filthy, so pay close attention to the list of kinks: non-specific underage (teenage); intersex; ritualized sex, mpreg, body horror; lactation; belly kink; inflation kink; dub-con/manipulation; A/B/O breeding; birth kink;</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. training ("the way of these things")

**Author's Note:**

> The kinks, let me list them for you: non-specific underage (teenage); intersex; ritualized sex, mpreg, body horror; lactation; belly kink; inflation kink; dub-con/manipulation; A/B/O breeding; birth kink;
> 
> now with a WIP sequel: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8070328/chapters/18491929

Cas has been back with The Community for less than a month when Bobby sidles up to him, nods at one of the boys out on the ball pitch, and mutters, “He’s the one.”

“Already?” Cas scans the crowd of boys.

“Well, Jo’s weaned and gone two weeks now”—Jo had been the last Babymaker, a female—“and John’d like to get this one bred up by the end of the summer. The Council is in agreement.” John the Council is the head of The Community’s Council, but Bobby is his right-hand man. Cas is just the Keeper, brought in to coach this Babymaker through his first breeding festival. If Bobby says it is the wish of the Council, then it is. That is the way of these things.

The scrum clears and Cas’s eyes catch on one of the younger boys. He’s clearly an omega, still small for his age, and with the typical bow legs that are meant to compensate for a lack of true child-bearing hips. Freckles, Cas notes even from a distance, and a sweet mouth. “He the only Triple O this year?” he asks.

“There’re others,” Bobby shrugs. The Babymaker must be an omega, an orphan, and an only child—the last two requirements guarantee that there will be no family claims on any offspring, and the first…well, that’s a biological necessity. Some years, no one of the right age meets all the requirements, so Babymakers cycle every seven years: seven years of breeding and birthing, and then a seven-year period called the hiatus, where they’re sent out of The Community. Jo’s just begun her hiatus; Cas has just finished his, so he’s back in The Community for one year as a Keeper. “A couple others,” Bobby continues, “but John likes that one. Jensen, he’s called.”

“Jensen.” Cas watches the kid on the field, darting among the older, bigger kids. Graceful and fearless, and with those pretty, pretty lips. No wonder John had chosen him from the other Triple O's this year. (Cas remembers John fondly from his own breedings; the man had a delicious, uncut horse-dick and knew how to use it. Cas would swear at least one set of his twins were John’s). Lithe Jensen trips up one of the clumsier kids and they both go down. The huge kid hauls Jensen out of the mud of the pitch like he weighs nothing at all. Laughing, Jensen wipes off his face with the tail of his tunic—a flash of pale flat stomach that suddenly make Cas hungry for his own breeding years.

Cas does the math in his head. It’s May now, nearly June, and if the Council want offspring by the next spring, September is about as late as they can wait for a breeding. And that’s assuming this Jensen is as fertile a specimen as he looks. Three months is a long training period for a Babymaker—omegas a born to breed and most take to it like a duck to water. Cas certainly had… but then, Cas had been older, nearly 19 at his first breeding, and he hadn’t been—

“ _Virgin_ -virgin, or cunt-virgin?” Cas asks Bobby, his eyes fixed on the boy. The Babymaker has to be a virgin (that is the way of these things), but for a male omega, that just means that no one can have been inside his breeding cunt, that orifice behind his balls that opens to his womb. If he’s had some other young buck up his ass, well—that certainly hadn’t disqualified Cas fourteen years ago.

“Totally pure, as far as we can tell,” Bobby gives him a knowing look. “And his next heat’s the second week of June. Better get cracking.”

~~~

Cas ignores Bobby's advice and bides his time. Patience is one of the virtues he’d learned during years of breeding. Of course, he can afford to wait: The Community assigns the Keeper his or her own house, at the edge of the fields near the forest. He gets the first pick of the food from the kitchens and is freed from the endless round of agricultural chores that are mandatory for everyone else in The Community. This is all to support the Babymaker, who has only one job—to bear offspring for the glory of the Goddess. Well, two jobs, since most Babymakers come back for a one-year stint as the Keeper, ensuring the traditions are followed. Cas waits and watches, going out into the long early summer evenings to observe the boys playing ball behind the spring house. He tries to remember lessons from his own Keeper.  
  
Of course, it’s not as though Lucifer had to tell him about the birds and the bees. Cas had been a cunt-virgin, as tradition required, but he sure hadn’t been virginal in any other regard. He’d never known why the Council had chosen him, but he’d been happy enough to serve. He loved being bred, enjoyed being pregnant, and dutifully popped out eleven perfect babies over his seven years. But he’s been watching the new chosen one, Jensen, and he’s begun to suspect that he may have his work cut out for him.  
  
Jensen doesn’t exactly boss around the other boys, but he certainly isn’t cowed by their size. He's bold, joking along with them, teasing the big one—Sam—who had pulled him out of the mud that first day. He doesn’t seem to have any special friends, any favorites. He even seems a little modest, keeping his tunic on when most of the others strip off to play in just leggings. Virgin-virgin for sure.  
  
So Cas watches and considers. There's no denying biology: that is the way of these things. And sure enough, one spring evening, when the other boys head back to the Orphan House, Jensen picks up the discarded ball and walks right over to where Cas is standing in the growing shadows at the edge of the pitch.  
  
“I know why you’re here,” Jensen says, vaguely accusing. He's even prettier up close, where Cas can see the golden specks in his green eyes and really appreciate his full lower lip.  Cas is usually drawn to betas, male- or female-type, but he doesn't blame John Winchester one bit for selecting this particular omega.  
  
Cas shrugs, “It’s not a secret.” Jensen is too young to have been part of a breeding festival, but he must have known about Jo.  
  
“No, I mean…” Jensen folds his arms around the ball protectively. “John told me. About, uh, the Council’s decision.” He actually blushes, bold and shy at once. “Anyway, I thought I should tell you, you’re wasting your time. I don’t want to do it.”  
  
Cas feigns confusion. “Do what?”  
  
Jensen steps closer, as Cas knew he would, not that there’s anyone left to hear them. “Be the…the Babymaker,” he mutters.  
  
“Hmm?” Cas shifts closer, dropping his head as though he can’t quite hear.  
  
“I don’t want to be, uh, p-pregnant,” Jensen stammers.  
  
"No?" Cas steps closer, almost pinning Jensen against the worn boards of the springhouse behind him. Being an omega himself, Cas can't smell Jensen's heat as intensely as an alpha would, but there's no denying that the kid is almost ripe. "But you'd be so pretty pregnant." He sees the boy's fingers clench on the ball, which he is holding against his stomach like it can protect his virtue. He puts his hands over Jensen's smaller ones, traces over the curve of the ball, lets one travel up Jensen's arm. "So...round."

"No, I..." Jensen starts, but when Cas's hand reaches the bare skin at the neck of his tunic, Jensen's head falls back, mouth still open but silent. Cas can feel his pulse thundering beneath the too-warm skin. He suspects they've already started putting the prescribed aphrodisiacs in Jensen's food because this is an intense response, even for a young omega.  
  
"I think you _do_ want it," Cas says, quietly, blowing the words across Jensen's skin so he shivers. "The Babymaker is where you came from, where all the orphans come from." He lets his thumb slip into Jensen's mouth and Jensen's lips automatically close and suckle. Sweet Goddess, they should be careful with those aphrodisiacs; if Cas had been an Alpha, Jensen would probably be on his hands and knees right here on the pitch. "It's what your body was made for: to grow big and round and full," Cas punctuates each adjective with a little more pressure on the ball, pushing it against Jensen's stomach, against the place where his babies will be. Sure enough, he feels Jensen's hips snap back against it.  
  
"Nnn...I'll be too big," Jensen gasps around Cas's thumb. "I'll get, get, uh, bred and be all fat and I won't—".  
  
"It's okay to be a little frightened," Cas hushes him. "That's what I'm here for...to help, to explain things, so you feel good. 'Cause it can be _so_ good." Jensen's hips roll again, twice, and his eyelids flutter. Cas wonders if he's coming; soon he'll know all Jensen's little tells.  
  
And then, suddenly, from somewhere, Jensen musters the presence of mind to push back. "No!" he gasps, twisting away, nearly stumbling without Cas's support. He tries to throw the ball at Cas, but his motor coordination is scrambled and it falls harmlessly. "No, I won't!"

~~~

Five days later, he's back, and this time, he's sought out Cas instead of the other way around. When Cas opens the door to the House of the Babymaker, Jensen is standing in the yard with a bag at his feet. He is flushed and slightly distracted—it takes him a moment to speak—so Cas knows he must be nearly in heat.  
  
"The Orphan House won't keep me," Jensen announces sullenly, a beat too late."They say I'm too disruptive to the Alphas."  For a moment, Cas considers suggesting that he move in with one of his friends...that boy Sam, for instance...just to see what Jensen would say. It's no time for teasing, though. Cas holds open the door: Jensen belongs here, in the house set aside for the Babymaker.  
  
"Well, come in, then. You can put your things in the back room—let me get you something to drink."  
  
Cas had known Jensen would come eventually, so he had herb tea chilling (nettle and red clover, for fertility) in the cold room. He pours a glass and dawdles a few moments, letting Jensen explore in peace. It's a relatively big house, especially for someone used to sharing the cramped bunkrooms at the Orphan House. There is an open interior courtyard, with the kitchen and reception rooms in the front; sitting rooms, guest rooms, bathrooms, storerooms make up the sides, and the whole large room at the back of the house is given over to the Babymaker.  
  
That's where Cas finds Jensen, eventually, and he's not surprised that the kid went first to the place that most unnerves him. Cas can sense his nervousness as he hands over the glass of tea.  
  
"Just the one level?" Jensen asks, trying to make conversation. "That's convenient." His eyes keep returning to the large oval bed in the center of the room.  
  
"There's a root cellar, but all the living areas are on this floor, yes." Cas doesn't explain that navigating stairs can be tricky when your belly gets so big you can't see your feet; Jensen will learn that soon enough.

Cas casually wanders over and sits on the bed, toes off his house slippers. Nearly six feet across at its widest point, the bed is set on a stepped plinth, for ease of access from all angles, but he thinks there must be a headboard somewhere. He distinctly remembers hanging onto a headboard to steady himself during a birthing. Or was it a breeding? Sometimes the two get tangled in his memory. "C'mon, have a seat," he invites Jensen. No use letting the boy get skittish over a piece of furniture.  
  
Jensen is still clutching his glass a little nervously, but all omegas are more biddable during heats, so he perches on the mattress, docile as you please. Cas moves so their hips touch, leaning back on his palms and stretching his legs out in front. The shift of the mattress pulls Jensen toward him, almost resting against his shoulder. "I conceived all of my babies on this bed," he remarks. "Birthed nearly all of them here, too. Did have one set of twins out there," he nods to the birthing pool in the courtyard.  
  
Jensen's eyes grow big over the rim of the glass; his throat works as he swallows the last of the tea. Cas can see him figuring, considering, deciding that maybe being the Babymaker is not the end of his life, that maybe it's not as impossible as it seems. If Cas can do it, and can return to The Community no different from anyone else—in fact, provided for and awarded a position of respect... Maybe it's his character, maybe it's a result of growing up in the Orphan House, but Cas suspects that Jensen is, at heart, a pragmatist and maybe even a bit of a rule-follower, despite all his protestations. Jensen wouldn't have come if he hadn't already made up his mind. He doesn't say anything more, though, just waits for the boy's own desires and the years of Community conditioning to make the choice for him.  
  
When Jensen speaks, his lips are stained red by the tea. "Will it hurt?" he asks at last, and Cas smiles—because he _likes_ this boy, like the way he faces his fears, because he didn't ask "Did it hurt?". Jensen may not realize it yet, but he's made his decision: Cas has him now. The Community will live.  
  
"Oh, sweeting, don't worry." Now that Jensen has begun to accept his fate, Cas finds his caution and stubbornness almost endearing. "I'll explain everything. Here, why don't you lay down, make yourself comfortable."  
  
Jensen shoots him a suspicious look, but he does lay back on the mattress, still holding the glass. His knees bend, feet dangling over the edge, and he looks small and confused in the wide bed. Again, Cas feels a sudden wave of tenderness. Lucifer, Cas's own Keeper, had been horny as hell and not above deception; they'd had a lot of fun, but Cas had long ago resolved to be more open and honest about the role of Babymaker. "Breeding can be a little..." Cas searches for an adjective, "intense. At least the first time. But most people enjoy it—especially omegas. You certainly will," he adds, thinking about how responsive Jensen was to touch, to the herbs and aphrodisiacs. Jensen allows a small smile, as though he's been complimented.  
  
"And the—uhm, the birth?" Jensen blushes. Cas hopes he never gets over that.  
  
"Well, contractions are not much fun, I've gotta tell you, but the rest of it...." Even in memory, Cas can barely suppress a wriggle of pleasure at the memory of his birthings. Omega anatomy means that healthy births are almost always orgasmic. He wonders if Jensen has ever had an orgasm. _Virgin-virgin_ , he reminds himself, and decides to begin at the beginning.

"What do you know about the types?" Cas asks, casually.

Jensen rolls his eyes: he's young, not stupid. "Alpha, beta, omega, female," he rattles off.

"And how are they different?"

"Well...alphas and some betas have cocks, but only the alphas have knots. The other betas and all the females have front-holes. Omegas have both."

"Why?" Cas asks, thinking: _front-hole—Goddess, he's so young!_ Cas had almost forgotten that polite euphemism.

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean, why are the types different?"

The confused look returns to Jensen's face. No one has ever asked him this before. "Because...uh, diversity makes us stronger?" he guesses, falling back on The Community creed.

Cas _knows_ he hadn't been this ignorant when he'd become the Babymaker. What were they teaching kids in school these days? Probably all abstinence and political correctness. He places his palm flat on Jensen's lower belly, between the points of his hips. Jensen looks up at him, startled, and Cas feels the muscles there jump under his hand, but Jensen doesn't pull away.

"This," Cas says, "is your womb. It connects to your...uh, front-hole, just like mine, just like in all omegas and all females."

"And female-type betas," Jensen adds, the little smart-ass.

"Exactly. Right now, it's just a muscle, about the size of your fist." Cas makes his hand into a fist, pushes a little, just to feel Jensen's hips roll up against the pressure. So responsive...that's never going to get old. "But when you're bred, that's where the baby goes. Now, above the womb are your egg-sacs," Cas slips his hand under Jensen's tunic and traces the placement of the three egg-sacs onto his bare belly. "Now, females only have two egg-sacs—they don't call them that, by the way—and they get cleared out every month or so. Omegas have three, and the eggs all stay there until they get fertilized or re-absorbed by your body. That's why females have periods and omegas have heats: your body is telling you that you have too many unfertilized eggs. That's also why so many omegas have twins or triplets."

"More eggs, more babies?" Jensen says, and Cas pets his belly in approval.

"But you can't just fertilize the eggs yourself."

"No?"

Cas eases Jensen't tunic up toward his collarbone and resolves to write a strongly-worded letter to his Council representative about the pathetic state of sex education in The Community. "No, you need an Alpha. With a cock." He lets his hand slide down to the corresponding part of Jensen's own anatomy; he feels how Jensen's little dick has thickened up beneath his leggings, notices how Jensen's thighs fall open to give him more access.

"Do you ever touch your cock, Jensen?"

Big, surprised eyes. "Ss-some, sometimes."

Cas tugs at the leggings and Jensen obediently lifts his hips, hissing when his cock slaps back against his belly.

"Do you want to show me how?" Cas asks, and he means it gently, but it's too much, too soon. Jensen curls away from him, pulling his knees to his chest. He traps Cas's hand between his legs. Cas stifles a sigh: virgin-virgin. He's beginning to understand why the Council had given him all summer. This could take a while.

"Shhh," he soothes, spooning around Jensen's body. "You don't have to." He kisses the bare, tender skin on the back of Jensen's neck. "It's not your cock that is the important part now, anyway. It's his."

After a moment—"His?" Jensen's voice is muffled but curious.

"The Alpha's." Cas starts to talk, can feel Jensen's body relaxing as he rambles, as he explains how Alpha cocks are bigger than those of the other types. "Usually thicker, but always longer," he says, "to reach the cervix."

When Cas starts talking about the knot, Jensen opens his legs a little, letting Cas's fingers describe where the knot grows. "That's the best part," Cas concludes, "because..." He moves down the stalk of Jensen's cock, behind his tight little balls, to the wrinkled lips in his perineum.

Jensen gasps, sensitive, and it takes another five minutes of coaxing before Cas gets a good look at his cunt.

Jensen's cunt is a neat little raspberry-colored mouth between his tight balls and his ass. Cas supposes his was small, too, before he pushed out nearly a dozen babies. He expects Jensen to startle when he touches it, but Jensen is so wet it takes a moment for the touch to even register. When it does, Jensen lets his knees loll open.

"That's right, beauty," Cas praises, untangling Jensen's left foot from his legging so he can kneel between the boy's legs. He hitches Jensen's thigh over his own, spreading him on the bed. He traces Jensen's cuntlips with two fingertips, using his other hand to knead his belly until they're both so wet there's almost no friction. Jensen's cock is dripping onto the back of his hand and Cas almost thinks he can feel the kid's egg sacs, a little swollen beneath the skin. He can't say for sure, of course; Jensen's so young his first few heats are bound to be unpredictable. An Alpha would know, would be able to smell the fertility, but Cas has only experience to go off of—his own, and those recorded in the birthing notebooks kept by earlier Keepers. It must be a reaction to the Orphan House's aphrodisiacs. Surely Jensen can't be broody yet?

Jensen is so slick his thighs shine with it and Cas's finger slides into his ass up to the first knuckle. Jensen wriggles but he can't get any leverage. Cas wraps his other hand loosely around Jensen's cock and waits until the kid can resist no longer: he arches up into the fist, seeking the sort of pleasure that would be familiar to a virgin omega, and when he rocks down, Cas's finger breaches him further. A little further each time, and he's getting such a pretty pink flush all down his freckled chest. Jensen's breaths come out as grunts, surprisingly deep, and Cas feels his own cock growing half-hard despite his suppressants. He takes a hand off Jensen's cock for just a split second (the boy whines) to shift his leg up. This new angle helps him slide a quarter-inch deeper and means the barely visible golden hairs on Jensen's calf now rub over Cas's left nipple. It's heavenly. Does Jensen has sensitive nipples, Cas wonders idly? Not all omegas do. Of course, that might develop with time: Cas's have been like livewires ever since he fed his triplets.

"There now," Cas kisses Jensen's ankle where it rests on his shoulder, "I know just what you need," and he's about to go back to stroking Jensen's cock when the boy thrashes and then freezes.

"Oh-uh, _ooooh_ ," he breathes out slowly and when Cas curls his finger again, Jensen's voice jumps half an octave and his ass goes tight as a vise.

Again, and a pause, and again. Cas, who can see Jensen's toes out of the corner of his eyes, watches as they clench in time with the finger in his ass.

"Can you..." Jensen starts, "uhm— _more_?"

"You're sure?"

"Yes! _Yes_ , I.... _please_!" So polite, even when he's desperate: Cas could just eat him up.

"Breathe out," Cas instructs, "bear down," and then while Jensen is still trying to process those directions, he presses his fingertip straight up and flickers it across the rough patch he can feel inside Jensen's slick young body.

Jensen positively _wails_ , arching until his body is a bow from shoulders to ankles. His hips twist rhythmically, like he's already in labour, three—four—five times, and even after he's collapsed onto the soaked sheets, he shivers and spasms occasionally.

"Prostate," Cas informs him when he can bear to be touched, brushing the sweat-damp hair off his forehead.

"Goddess," Jensen mumbles sleepily.

~~~

 "There's another spot, up inside your cunt, just like it but bigger," Cas strips off his own damp tunic and wipes off what slick and spunk he can. He's tries to wrap Jensen up in a sheet, but, like so many omegas, the kid gets touch-hungry after orgasm and seems to prefer being wrapped up in Cas himself. "Plus your clit."

"So, birthing..." Jensen mutters against Cas's shoulder. And Cas almost laughs: even wrung-out with pleasure, this stubborn boy has a one-track mind.

"Well, like I said, the contractions can be unpleasant, but—" Cas's words catch in his throat suddenly because Jensen, half-asleep, has just latched on to his nipple. Cas's hand comes up to cup the kid's skull automatically, to keep that lovely tongue in place, before he can even marvel at the fact that he is still giving an anatomy lesson.

"Uh-huh?" Jensen grunts. His eyes have closed, lashes dark against his freckled cheeks.

"But then you have—this big Alpha baby—moving! And...and _pushing_ against both spots at once,"  _Beloved Goddess, the mouth on him_ , Cas strokes Jensen's hair, "Yes, darling, like that—oh, _teeth_ —And there are other—uh, nerves. At the opening. Of the cunt. And they, they have to stretch, you know..." Jensen doesn't seem at all bothered by the fact that Cas is slowly rocking against his slippery ass-cheek. In fact, his suckling seems to have fallen into the same rhythm. Cas can't even tell if the boy is still listening until after Cas has shuddered through his own climax.

"Will you touch me there?" Jensen asks, sleepy-eyed, his mouth nearly as puffy as Cas's nipple.

"Hmm?" Cas tried to remember what they were talking about. A suppressed orgasm in an omega is nothing to write home about, but it's been awhile.

"In my cunt, where the other spot is. Will you touch me there, too?"

Cas blinks. He shouldn't, of course. Jensen is young and eager and not unattractive: they could enjoy themselves, just as Cas and Lucifer had before Cas's first breeding. But Lucifer hadn't touched Cas's cunt. And the Babymaker is sacred to the Goddess: that is the way of these things. On the other hand, as an omega, Cas won't ever breed Jensen, and it might be a kindness not to send him to the Alphas as a complete virgin. A few fingers, a little toy...he's so very, very small. There are methods, naturally, to prevent too much pain on the day of deflowering—and it's not like Jensen isn't going to have to stretch plenty eight months later. But Cas knows John the Council's prodigious knot and now he knows Jensen's sweet pink breeding cunt, too. _Square peg_ , he thinks, smoothing a hand down Jensen's back, _round hole_.

~~~

There are special foods, full of milk-fat and folic acid and herbs to keep Jensen in a constant low-level arousal. Exercises to strengthen his hips and thighs and lower back. Lots of abdominal work: his flat teenage belly becomes ridged with muscles. Cas mixes up a cream and massages it every day to keep the skin supple. Jensen could do this himself, but his body will not be his own for long and it's best if he gets used to that idea quickly.

The recipes, prescriptions, and exercises are all detailed in the notebooks kept by previous Keepers. On occasion, Cas will let Jensen read a few passages (although nothing too graphic: " _The Babymaker laboured for three suns and was delivered of two small babies, 4917 and 5624 grams apiece_ "; Cas takes that volume away when he sees that Jensen has worked out the conversion—over ten and twelve pounds). Mostly, he thinks, Jensen looks at the pictures; the books are full of round bellies and swollen breasts (" _At twenty-four weeks, this Babymaker expresses milk whenever the nipple is pinched sharply, see Figure_ _3_."). He has a lot of questions about how the Babymakers are chosen—questions Cas can't answer—and Cas wonders if he's having second thoughts.

When too many of those questions come up, Cas tells him to go to bed...and then follows with the toy chest. Obviously, after all these years, the House of the Babymaker has a wide range of playthings. Long, short, thick, knotted. The Alphas won't be interested in Jensen's ass, but he should understand a little of what it meant to be knotted. There's one inflatable that, once Cas has the knot stretching Jensen's hole, turns the boy into a moaning, trembling mess. After that, he's usually so blissed out that Cas can roll him onto his back, eat the luscious peach of a cunt for a few moments, and then slide in a dildo thinner than his finger. Most of the Babymaker toys are thick and veined, meant to simulate Alpha cock, but this one can slip in without breaking his hymen. Jensen still whines and cramps when the little ball at the end touches his cervix, but he used to yelp and try to pull away. Practice makes perfect.

When Jensen begins running a slight temperature every day, Cas goes off his suppressants for a week and teaches the kid how to suck cock.

"But I already—"

"We're not talking about turn-about after the lights are out in the Orphan House," Cas reminds him, "These are full-grown Alphas."

Jensen is good, though, for a virgin-virgin: he keeps his teeth covered, lets his throat open, and swallows in delicious, sucking gulps.

Cas collapses onto the bed, drained. "Sweet Goddess!"

Jensen sits up, wipes his mouth. "Well, Sam wasn't exactly small, you know. Neither were some of the others." Then he flops down again and begins tracing Cas's stretch marks with a curious finger.

Cas growls. He can imagine what orphans get up to at night; he was one himself, once. Sam, of course, is not an orphan—he's the son of John the Council, and Cas is about to ask how Jensen has gotten to know Sam's cock so well when Jensen straddles his thighs and asks, "Will I get marks like these?"

Cas looks down at the silvery lines on his abdomen. "Probably," he hedges. What he really means is "definitely." Jensen is younger, his skin more elastic, and Cas had been more diligent about the cream massages than Lucifer ever was, but one can only do so much with those trim teenage hips. "The babies have to go somewhere."

Jensen puts a hand on his own belly, tanned to a beautiful, uniform brown by all those yoga sessions in the courtyard. "I can't imagine it."

Cas ruts up against him, almost involuntary, remembering what it felt like to be so full that his skin was tight. "You'll be beautiful," he says, tugging at Jensen until the kid is arranged just where he wants him. Maybe it's a subliminal trigger from all those pregnancies, but having some weight pinning him to the bed always drives Cas crazy.

"I'll be fat," Jensen pouts theatrically, summoning his oldest argument.

"You'll be _round_." Cas corrects, putting his hand over Jensen's stomach. "Here." He sweeps up to Jensen's hard little nipples, tweaks them. "And here. Omegas get their milk much sooner than females."

Jensen huffs and rolls his eyes. He's been teasing Cas lately about all the anatomy lessons at inappropriate moments. He shifts, bringing one knee off the bed (Goddess, Cas thinks, they're so flexible at this age) and he's just doing what feels good, what feels _right_.  He doesn't even realize that he's opening himself up until the head of Cas's dick catches on the rim of his ass.

Jensen is still open from the toy and wet because...well, these days, he's always wet. Cas's omega dick slides in easily: he's off his suppressants and horny as hell.

Jensen makes a curious sound; his eyelids flutter.

"Okay?" asks Cas. After all their prep, an omega cock should be nothing.

"It's different when it's _real_ ," Jensen breathes. "When it's another p-person inside you."

Jensen rides him _beautifully_ , his own cock bobbing, leaving smears of pre-cum behind. Cas runs his thumb down the shaft, brushes the clit at its base, just to feel the strength in Jensen's thighs when they tighten around him. Jensen yelps, then forces himself down harder. Could be the hormones, could just be youth, but Jensen has no sense of his own limits, Cas realizes: kid would fuck himself raw. It's an intriguing thought, but Cas can feel his own orgasm pulling like something tidal. At this point, he knows Jensen's body almost better than his own, so he plants his feet in the tumbled sheets and aims unerringly for the boy's prostate.

"Izzat—uh, is that—what it's like?" Jensen asks when he can speak again. "Getting bred?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Cas says. He runs a finger through the sweat on the Jensen's stomach and, no doubt now, he can feel the egg-sacs, slightly swollen. Can't be long now. "You have no idea."

~~~

In fact, Jensen's full, true heat begins a week later, on the last Thursday in August. It's not just a metaphor: Cas can feel him burning as he dresses him for the procession. Fortunately, the ceremonial clothing is lightweight. The gown is mostly gauze, with a wide leather strap that wraps around Jensen's lower ribs like a corset. Another leather affair ties around his waist, keeping his cock trussed up and out of the way. The gauze is white, bridal white, but it's lucky that green is the traditional color of the fertility goddess, Cas thinks, because the green leather matches Jensen's eyes. He's found varnish just the same shade for Jensen's toes.

"Sit while I fix this crown," Cas directs him, and points to the palanquin in the courtyard. Jensen will be carried by the four council members during the procession, and then returned to the House for the first night of breeding. There is a back, like a throne—which is good, because in his current, feverish state, Cas isn't sure Jensen can keep himself upright. The throne has no seat, however: Jensen has to straddle the base as though he were riding a horse. He groans with pleasure as he does so, loving the feeling of being spread so widely. The heat has burnt away any self-consciousness that remained after Cas's months of training.

Cas arranges the flower crown on Jensen's head. Similar flowers and fertility sigils have been painted on his stomach and thighs. Runes have been drawn along his collarbone and around each rouged nipple.

"Itches," the boy complains, oversensitive. "And dunno why," Jensen loses the thought for a moment, a surge of heat. "Dunno why you bother," he fidgets with the gauze. "This outfit. Y'can see right through."

"That is the way of these things," Cas says. If Jensen's mind weren't so heat-fogged, he'd realize what everyone else knows: that the purpose of the transparent garment is to display Jensen's body—the boyish hips, flat tits, and empty belly that are about to be changed forever.


	2. breeding ("a knock on the door")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 2--still disgusting! I will be adding to the tags. The story is winding down, maybe 1-2 more chapters if I stay interested. So comment with what you like or what you'd like to see more of (if you'd like to see more).
> 
> Edited to add: I don't really know the show, except for the first few seasons, and in coming chapters, I might need a character to play the midwife...any suggestions? please comment!

Cas doesn’t plan to watch the whole procession. After all, he’s seen it from the inside seven times. He fixes Jensen’s crown for the umpteenth time and pins on the voluminous veil that completes the traditional uniform, then signals the four Council members to lift the palanquin. He hears the sound Jensen makes—a high, sweet moan—and watches his thighs flex as he tries to keep his balance. Kid probably doesn’t have enough air to make too much noise: Cas had pulled the half-corset pretty tight, trying to give Jensen a Goddess-like bosom when he really doesn’t have much up top. Yet.

Cas leaves by the front door and positions himself in front of the courtyard entrance. The House of the Babymaker is at the edge of The Community, but today it is the center of everything. The festival-day crowd cheers when they see him, and then settle down briefly for his traditional announcement. Cas pauses for a moment, enjoying everyone’s suspense. The Keeper is only obligated to serve for one year, guarding the Babymaker’s virginity and passing on traditions about breeding and birthing. Some Keepers stay on after their Babymaker’s first confinement, but most fade back into ordinary life. (Cas had last seen his Keeper from a haze of hormonal after-birth ecstacy, a newborn twin on each tit). Cas hasn’t decided whether he’ll stay—this may be his only Breeding Day Announcement. It will certainly be the last time it is true for Jensen. He savors the thought, then takes a deep breath, looks out over the eager crowd, and shouts: “I send the virgin forth!”

Cas opens the courtyard gates and the crowd heaves to catch a sight of the Babymaker beneath his veils. The palanquin comes into view and the decibel level rises. Shouts, applause, someone strikes up the traditional ballad about how the birthing Babymaker brings grace and good crops. Under the public revelry, Cas hears the occasional grunting and pleading: not everyone can control themselves and the Babymaker is not the only one who will be delivered of a baby next spring. Every kid in The Community runs free on Breeding Day, which just adds to the mayhem. Un-mated Alphas are hobbled when out in public; they howl and rattle their chains at Jensen’s ripe scent. Bookmakers call for custom: every year bets are laid about how fertile the Babymaker is, who will knock him up. Jensen’s appearance—young and obviously in heat—starts a frenzy of betting. Females who want babies rush forward to touch his danging feet, to suck on his toes, believing it will bring them fertility in the new year. Slowly, the council members bear the palanquin away, Jensen swaying smoothly on top like his hips have ball-bearings.

Cas judges the size of the crowd with a practiced eye: he should have two or three hours before Jensen returns for the main even. He strips the big oval bed and puts on a new rubber underlayer and fresh linen sheets. A few days ago he summoned workmen to put on the curved headboard and now he arranges a small mountain range of pillows and cushions. He lights lavender candles, puts out flagons of fortified water: Jensen and the Alphas will need to replenish a lot of fluids. He lays out the trays of narcotic herbs in the bedroom and the matches to burn them. He moves an extra sofa into one of the sitting rooms and, upon consideration, moves a few of the more fragile pieces to a storeroom. The Babymaker must be bred by every member of the Council and the head of the Council—that’s five right there—plus representatives from each of The Community's other Old Families. The Alphas in rut might knot him for half an hour. Maybe longer, if Jensen grows too tired to milk them efficiently. The representatives who have to wait will be horny and careless. Cas picks up two rather delicate stools and takes them with him. No sense in letting them wreck the place while they waited.

At last, Cas has prepared and double-checked everything. The House is still and silent around him, waiting. Occasionally, he can hear applause from the crowd, gathered now in the center of town. Cas gets a double-dose of his daily suppressant, but before swallowing it, he climbs the courtyard ladder to the House’s flat roof. In the distance, he can see the crowd and, on a flower-decorated platform, the white form that must be Jensen. Years ago, that’s where the whole breeding used to take place. Of course, years ago, the Babymaker had to be bred by every male—Alpha, beta, citizen, visitor—in The Community. The whole thing simply became unfeasible as The Community grew. It was clearly a barbaric practice that led to jealousy, feuds, and pregnancies so fecund that that the Babymakers spent most of it on bedrest. It is also one of Cas’s favorite fantasies.

Cas takes his dick in hand; it is nearly hard despite the suppressants he’s already taken. Far away, the white figure grows smaller. Jensen, representing the Goddess, has knelt before John the Council, who represents The Community. “You worship his body,” Cas had explained to Jensen, “and then he gives you what you want—it’s supposed to be the symbolic reverse of The Community’s relationship with nature, where we worship the Goddess and she gives us crops and rain.” He’d talked a lot about symbolism and anatomy over the past two months, but he remembers that had barely made an impression on his first Breeding Day. In his memory, it was a blazing summer day, everything too bright. The gauze gown had teased his skin and he’d needed help leaving the palanquin; his legs hadn’t wanted to close. John hadn’t been the head of the Council then, just a regular Councilor and the head of his family. He had been the one to confirm Cas’s virginity, though, positioning him in the stirrups and sliding two deliciously thick fingers into his breeding cunt as the crowd cheered. He’d said something—Cas can’t remember quite what, something about how wet he was—and had let Cas suck his fingers clean before leading him to kneel before the head of the Council. Cas remembers opening his mouth, taking in the Alpha cock—salty, too big even when it was soft—and being overwhelmed with a sense of _rightness_. He’d felt so empty, and he’d just craved being filled.

~~~

The procession must involve many toasts to the health of the Goddess, because Jensen is slightly drunk when the Councilors bear him home. He slumps in Cas’s arms as Cas removes the gown, rubbing against him like a cat. Cas leaves the green leather: sometimes the Alphas like to have something to hold onto. Fortified by his double dose of suppressants, Cas patiently untangles himself from Jensen and goes to get the paints—Jensen’s sigils have been smeared by sweat and slick and many, many hands. When he returns, Cas pauses for a moment to light the herbs he put out and enjoy the view. Jensen looks so small in the big bed, thoughtlessly brushing his nipples with the edge of his veil. _Now_ they’re sensitive? Weeks of patient stimulation yield nothing and.. _now?_ Such an impossible boy, Cas sighs.  Behind him, someone knocks on the frame of the meadow door. 

There is a speech, a ceremonial summoning spoken by the Babymaker, and Jensen and Cas have practiced it. But the moment John enters the room, all language seems to go right out of Jensen’s head. Jensen looks from Cas to John and back again, his expression beautifully dazed. “Hello,” he says at last, and the word comes out thin and airy because the leather strap around his ribs keeps him from taking a full breath.

“Goddess,” John growls, and Cas can’t tell if he’s cursing, commenting, or naming. The smoke from the smoldering herbs is meant to pacify Alphas, so they don’t get too savage when faced with a fertile omega in heat, but Cas just lit them a few minutes ago. Right now, the only thing standing between Jensen and complete ravishment is John’s self-control…and Cas has to wonder how long that will stand at all. John pulls off his tunic, nearly tearing it, and he should be smaller than Cas’s memory, but he’s not. Not at all.

Now would be the time for Jensen to deliver that traditional Babymaker speech, the one that Cas knows he has memorized backwards and forwards, because there was a solid two weeks when he wouldn’t let Jensen come until he’d recited it. But Jensen just sits there primly, at the edge of the bed, and looks at the enormous, flared head of John the Council’s cock with undisguised hunger, like he hadn’t had it in his mouth an hour ago in front of the entire Community. And then, still in his veil, still daubed with paint, Jensen simply lays back, showing his belly, and opens his legs.

John kneels at the edge of the bed like a supplicant and buries his face in Jensen’s breeding cunt. Cas suddenly finds himself clenching his hand around the paintbrush he’s holding to stop himself from reaching out to touch the Alpha’s balls, round and heavy as plums. John is at least twice Jensen's size, maybe larger; the omega nearly disappears behind the man’s broad back. Jensen hooks one of his legs over John’s muscled shoulder, his foot pointed as delicately as a dancer, the green-painted toenails curling tighter and tighter against John’s back. John lets Jensen whimper his way through two orgasms before he attacks the corset leather with his teeth. Jensen gasps at the new supply of oxygen; the whimpers become full-throated moans.

John turns, looking over his shoulder at Cas without giving up the proprietary grip he has on Jensen’s squirming hips. The room has grown smoky, but that doesn’t seem to have tamed anyone’s hormones. “Help me move 'im. Wan’ ‘im on his knees,” the Alpha slurs hoarsely. His face gleams with Jensen’s slick.

Cas is dumbstruck. Usually, the Babymaker is on top for the first breeding; in addition to being a gentler way to break in new Babymakers, it is considered diplomatic to leave the more potent positions for the later candidates. Moreover, as Keeper, Cas is only obligated to watch the breedings as a neutral observer. He’s here as a formality, really. There’s nothing in any of the notebooks about actually facilitating the process. John doesn’t care about the notebooks, or diplomacy: John wants to impregnate this omega, and every hormone and chemical in his body is urging him to that end.

Impatient with Cas's momentary delay, the Alpha hauls Jensen to the center of the bed,tries to mount him, but Jensen twines his arms and legs around his torso. John snarls and breaks free easily, nearly tossing Jensen onto the mass of cushions and pillows. When Jensen, crazed for touch, reaches again for the frustrated Alpha, Cas decides to intervene before someone gets hurt. John actually snaps at him before realizing that Cas doesn’t smell like another Alpha out to steal a bitch.

“C’mere, lovely,” Cas coaxes,climbing onto the bed and lying back against the pillows. He drapes Jensen over himself, feeling the prick of the boy's tiny hard nipples against his own chest as he pulls Jensen’s arms around his own neck so he has something to hold onto. The kid is shivering with aftershocks, aroused out of his mind, slick and smooth because Cas had him shave every hair below his chin. Tradition prescribes that—such is the way of these things. Tradition does not, explicitly, require that when an Alpha, ravenous and clumsy with his own heat, sends his thick cock snubbing against the Babymaker’s ass and hips, Cas must reaches down and leads it to the target.  But Cas does it anyway.

Jensen bucks and twists, alarmed by the size of the cockhead against his vulva, but he’s uncoordinated and effectively pinned. He bites down on the nearest thing—Cas’s shoulder—when John succeeds in penetrating him. Suddenly, the fight goes out of him as quickly as it entered, his mouth falling open, eyes rolling back as he arches into the long stretch. “Oh…oh.. _oh_ ,” he pants as each push fills him, forces the air out of his lungs. “No, I—I can’t…so _big_ —I want…”

“Yes,” Cas coaches, bracing Jensen’s hips with his hands, “yes, yes, yes.”

“More…wet,” John growls over Jensen’s shoulder, looking likes he’s barely able to summon the human words. Cas thinks he’s misunderstood— Jensen is always soaking—but, of course, the kid has never been filled like this before. Cas reaches down to tease Jensen’s clit and finds it fully exposed. He traces the stretched opening below it: the boy’s cuntlips are wide around a knot nearly as big as the head of the child this Alpha will surely seed within him. But Jensen’s struggles have aroused the Alpha need for dominance; John has started to knot too early.

Cas puts his thumb in Jensen’s mouth, lets him drool over it for a moment, and then flickers that clit in time with John’s thrusts. He puts his own mouth to suckle on Jensen’s tiny, furled nipple. He leaves the John to maul the other one, pinching and pulling with those thick fingers. Above him, Jensen gasps and heaves, pummeled against Cas by each strong thrust. And slowly, slowly, the little omega opens, flowers, takes the knot into his body.

John groans like he’s been stabbed when he feels his knot seated against Jensen's pelvic bone, then subsides, tugging the omega against his broad chest to suck bruising kisses across Jensen’s shoulder blades.

“Oh,” Jensen says again, in wonderment. “So deeeep,” he sighs, dazed. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the fire chewing at the still-burning herbs and John’s ragged breathing. The knot is plainly visible under the taut skin between Jensen's hips. Then, involuntarily, those hips begin to roll. This has not been part of the training: for a stimulated omega, the breeding reflex is as automatic as breathing. Cas had felt it that first day at the spring house, when he had taunted the kid with the football.  Jensen whines.  This motion stretches him cruelly, as Cas well knows—the knot is massive, lodged between Jensen’s tender cervix and the sensitive root of the clitoris at the base of his cock. Even so, the need to pull now is as automatic as the need to push will be during birthing. Jensen's ass lifts off John’s lap, thigh muscles cording, abdomen tightening around the knot like a hot, wet fist before dropping back against John. After a few repetitions, Cas watches John’s furry balls draw up.  He'd swear he sees the moment when they begin to pulse their seed.

Jensen convulses, his hands flutter down to touch, then away, only to seize on Cas’s fingers, press them to his belly.

“I c’n _feel_ it. Feel him. Inside me,” Jensen gasps, looking overwhelmed, looking for a split-second like he might cry.

Cas can feel it, too, right through the smooth skin of Jensen’s belly: the hard swell of the knot, throbbing as it empties, and then above it, clenching steadily, the young omega’s womb. Jensen milks John dry in twenty minutes, which has got to be a record. When the knot finally pulls free, Jensen whines and John gently shushes him, like a father to a toddler. He arranges him carefully, finding a dry spot on the bed, propping his hips up on two pillows, kissing his feverish forehead. Jensen settles, but restlessly--murmuring to himself, plucking at the sheets.  He doesn't rest for long. There’s a knock at the door.

~~~

“Dunno whether to congratulate you or send my condolences,” Bobby remarks when Cas opens it, his white Keeper’s robes now damp and sticky. “Or maybe just offer you a cigarette?”

Cas glowers at him, but Jensen seems happy to see him.

“Hey,” Jensen beams up from the bed, hips still higher than his shoulders, afloat on endorphins.

“Good?” Bobby asks.

“The _best!_ ” Jensen affirms, with adolescent enthusiasm, already spreading his legs for another round.

Bobby and the next two councillors are easy: Jensen is wet and eager, takes them deeply and emptying them quickly. (“Goddess, but he’s strong,” one of them swears after stumbling out of the bedroom, “I think his insides bruised my cock.” And Cas, overhearing, can’t help but flush with pride: he’d always said Jensen would thank him one day for all those reps and sets).

The last Councillor, Gabriel, doubles up with Ellen Harvelle. Since there are no available male Harvelles, Ellen represents her family in a figurative capacity. (Based on the girth of the oiled wood cock strapped between her legs, Cas wonders if she’s clear on the meaning of _figurative_ ). They’re slow and gentle, things end with Gabriel knotting from behind while Ellen sweet-talks, muttering things Cas can’t hear as Jensen sucks at her tit.

Cas intends to pause the proceedings after Ellen and the Councillors.  He’s got a menu of quick, light meals to keep up Jensen’s strength and he wants to massage the boy’s hips before they cramp. But Ellen has other ideas: she corners him in the kitchen and tips him over the table. There’s no knot, of course, but Cas allows himself a few moments of post-coital bliss, enjoying the fullness in his belly and the feel of her breasts hot on his back. He then cleans her very fine cock with his tongue.

“What did Jo think of this young man?” he teases, sliding a strap out of the way so he can work his fingers into her.

“Oh…oh, she was very— _ugh!_ —fond of him,” Ellen laughs.

“And did you—every year?”

“All seven,” Ellen replies pleasantly, before throwing her head back and shuddering to pieces.She squirts like a fountain, and cleaning up takes longer than expected. By the time Cas makes it back to the bedroom, Jensen is already hanging off another knot.  Dinner will have to wait.

~~~

The Keeper only really has to observe the first breeding--after that, the Babymaker hardly needs a witness to his or her virginity.  But Cas has grown very fond of Jensen, so he tries to keep an eye on things, in between restocking the narcotic herbs and making sure the randy Alphas don't tear up the sitting room.  He brings in food (which Jensen eats like a starving man) and insists that he drink a full cup of fortified water after every other breeding, even when Jensen sulks and insists that he's _fine_ , that all he needs is the next Alpha. He daubs ointment on Jensen's thighs, on his newly-sensitive nipples, to counteract the burn of stubbled kisses. Occasionally, he locks the bedroom door so that Jensen can take cat-naps: twenty minutes in a dark room with a cold compress on his cunt, before his heat wakes him up, desperate again.

All night and into the next morning, as the Alphas representing various families knock to gain entry, Cas tries to maintain his watch.  Eventually things start to blur together.  Wide Alpha hands guiding slim teenage hips in a very old dance.  Jensen's legs latched around someone's waist, his heels drumming their ass like a rider urging a stallion.  The kid straddling an Alpha so large that his feet barely brush the floor on the downstroke. Those shockingly deep grunts that Jensen makes when someone's cock brushes his womb.  An Alpha, balls deep, tenderly licking Jensen's instep: thick fingers around a slender ankle, toes clenched. 

Just before midnight, Cas loosens the strings on the green leather binder cradling Jensen's cock.  His stomach has begun to swell—Alpha cum is extraordinarily viscous and Jensen's being filled too often to completely absorb it all. When he has to loosen it again not four hours later, Cas considers just getting rid of the binder altogether.  A cock is not much use to any  omega during a breeding, but it does get very sensitive during his heat.   Cas peeks out at the sitting room where four pacing Alphas wait their turn.  He tucks Jensen's cock into the sleeve: just easier to have it out of the way. Jensen smiles, temporarily sated.  He runs his fingers along the thin leather and then continues across the new curve of his belly.  "I like it,"  he says, shyly.  Cas doesn't know whether he means breeding, or his changing body, or something else.  Before he can ask, there is another knock on the door. 

Not long after, Jensen begins to flag.  It takes him nearly forty minutes to fully milk Gavin MacLeod, and then only after Cas curls up behind him and massages his belly to kick-start the breeding reflex. He can still feel Jensen's uterus moving, but distantly, tired. The boy is so bloated, Cas can't feel the egg-sacs at all. Cas summons the last Alpha. Jensen barely moves, just moans his pleasure, when Shane enters him.  The Alpha has to pick him up, still tied, and carry him around the bedroom, out to the courtyard under the waning stars, knot moving with each step, before the friction finally triggers Jensen's milking response.

Jensen is utterly limp when Shane pulls out; he offers up a weary kiss and drops back amongst the pillows.  Round, just as Cas had promised.  Exhausted, but satisfied.  Cas douses the last of the burning herbs and opens the window to let in the cool morning air.  He has just decided against forcing another glass of water on Jensen when there is—oh, sweet Goddess—a knock on the door.

It is Sam Winchester, looking tousled and sweaty and not at all as though he has had a restful night.  For a moment, Cas's tired brain can't imagine what he's doing there.  And then he realizes...John bred the Babymaker in his capacity as head of the Community Council, not as head of his household. Of all the family representatives, at least a dozen, no one had represented the Old Family of Winchester.  Cas doesn't know the sequence of the breedings, except that the Head of Council goes first, and then the other Councillors, by seniority.  Sam, who may be even younger than Jensen, would of course be the most junior.  The last Alpha. 

"I'm here to...I need to—" Sam stutters.

"Go to the front door," hisses Cas. "You can wait in the sitting room." 

  
But he's too late.  "Sam?" Jensen calls sleepily from his nest of cushions. "Sammy?"

Sam perks up and he's too young to have his father's restraint: if he gets a whiff of Jensen, even well-fucked as he is, there will be no stopping him.  "Front door," he snaps, and closes the bedroom door firmly, leaving Sam out in the back meadow.

Jensen looks anxious.  "Where's Sam?"

"He's gone around the front;  I'll have him wait in the sitting room for a little bit, until you're ready."

"I'm ready now," Jensen says, petulantly. 

 _What you are now is debauched;_ that's what Cas wants to say.  Jensen is sprawled against the pillows like he'd fall without their support.  He has bruises dotting his collarbone, a fucking bite mark on one cheek of his ass. His nipples have been sucked a vivid pink.  And the strings of his cocksleeve are now cutting into his swollen belly. 

Cas sits on the bed, suspecting that what Jensen really wants—what is always wants after an orgasm—is to be held.  "You 're tired, sweetling.  You can barely sit up. Rest a little."

"No! I want Sam." Jensen actually has tears in his eyes.

Cas smooths his hair. "Darling, you had trouble with Shane, remember?  The reflex? You need to give yourself a break.  It's not good for the—"

"It won't be," Jensen's voice breaks, horrified.  "It won't be _good_.  I'm not...I'm not tight anymore, I can't milk him." He looks at Cas with an agonized expression on his face.  "I'm too _big._ And ugly. I _knew_ it. I knew this would happen!"

It's the hormones talking, and the exhaustion. Jensen's characteristic pragmatism will resurface eventually.  Cas knows this (he had some spectacular temper tantrums with Lucifer over the smallest things), but he also knows that Jensen's greatest fear is being unwanted.  He can't bear to let his little omega, whom he's trained so carefully, who had exceeded his expectations, be so upset. 

"Oh, little one," Cas sighs, giving in.  "Don't cry."

~~~

Sam is half-naked and all hard when Cas finally opens the bedroom door.  Cas suspects he'd been masturbating, aflame with teenage hormones and Alpha hormones and the lingering scent of all that happened in the House over the past day. Cas had pulled him aside and explained what was going to happen—"gently, we're doing this very gently"—and insisted that Sam put on a collar.  Horny young Alphas were unpredictable. Cas wasn't taking any chances, especially since at some point during the last twenty-four hours, Jensen had almost certainly become pregnant. He ties a shredded ribbon of green leather from what once was Jensen's corset around Sam's neck.  It must still smell faintly like Jensen, because Sam whimpers. 

He seems to be struck dumb by the sight of Jensen, though.  His mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he manages, "I want—Can I...touch?"

Cas shadows him to the bed, watching him closely, before sliding in behind Jensen who really can barely sit himself up.

"Yes,"  Jensen whispers.  "Please.  Touch me."

Sam doesn't dive in like his father.  He starts with Jensen's toes, still painted green, and then runs his hands up Jensen's calves, kisses the inside of his left knee.  He growls when he sees the fingerprint bruises on the meat of Jensen's thigh, but Cas gives him a sharp look and he quiets. He settles his hands in the notch between Jensen's hips and his new belly, then cups the swelling in his big palms.  "Baby."

"Well, soon," Jensen smiles indulgently, rich with the wealth of new experience. He winces when Sam's huge paws reach his tits and Sam pulls back instantly.

"Sorry!"

"No, no—it's fine.  A little ss-uh, sensitive but.  I like it."

Sam looks doubtful.

"I _do_.  Really.  Do it again,"  Jensen thrusts his chest out and shivers when Sam plucks his nipples.

Reassured, Sam sweeps his hand down Jensen's body, laughing with delight when he reaches Jensen's cunt.  "You're so wet!"

Jensen moans and manages to summon enough strength to rock up against Sam's fingers. Show and tell is over. "Sammy,"  he pleads,  "I need you!"

"But I don't..." Sam begins.  "Dunno how—I mean, I want to...Goddess, I really, _really_ want...but." 

"Cas will show you," Jensen pants.  "Won't you, Cas?  Taught me everything I know,"  he assures Sam.

Cas doesn't really have to explain much.  He simply gets one hand under Jensen's knee and for the second time in one day, he finds himself guiding a Winchester cock to the Babymaker's cunt.  Once Sam's cock touches that puffed, wet hole, some inner instinct drives him forward, inward.

Jensen's whole body shudders as Sam enters.  The Alpha is definitely his father's son, size-wise, but Cas's hand on Sam's hip keep him from moving too quickly. Cas moves his hands onto Sam's flexing ass, pulling him into Jensen, guiding his speed and rhythm.  He knows he's been successful when Jensen starts to grunt.

Sam makes a confused, quizzical sound, tries to hold back.

"No, don't...don't stop.  It's good," Jensen manages.  " _So_ good to me, Sam, so... _oh, Goddess._..deep. That's the, uh, womb.  Where the, where the baby goes."

When Cas hears his own words being echoed back to him, he can't wait any longer.  He nudges Jensen up onto wobbly knees and reaches down to where the two teenagers are joined.  Slick is dripping out of Jensen's cunt, smoothing the way for Sam's emerging knot, and it's the work of a moment to bring some of it back to his asshole.  Slowly, in time with Sam's increasingly powerful thrusts, Cas eases his way into Jensen's ass. 

The noises Sam makes as Jensen grows tighter around him are absolutely feral, and Jensen himself lets his head fall back onto Cas's shoulder.  "Oh, _full_ ,"  he breathes, hands on his stomach.  "Merciful Goddess, I am _so_ full."

Sam's knot pops—and Cas can feel it.  Cas can feel _everything_ : the spongy knob of a new Alpha knot crammed against the firm ridge of Jensen's cervix, the liquidity of the spunk that makes Jensen look like he's already three months gone. Cas _knows_ this body, inside and out, so he snugs Jensen's ass up against his own belly and mimics the rock of a breeding reflex he hasn't needed himself in seven years.

It takes time, but eventually Jensen's own body picks up the rhythm. Cas can feel that too: the needful pain when Jensen's uterus starts to pump, the scald of Sam's spunk.  Sam howls when Jensen begins to milk him properly, so loudly that if Cas hadn't been right behind them, he would never have heard Jensen whispered chant: "Come on, Sam...fill me up.  _Knock_ me up, Sammy.  Come on..."

~~~

Cas's work is done, so he lets himself luxuriate under the weight of both teenagers until he begins to lose feeling in his extremities. Only then does he crawl out from under the sprawl of limbs.  Speaking of extremities—Goddess, his balls have been drained so completely, they _hurt._ Just the thought of touching his own cock starts an enjoyable ache. Experienced from the inside, Jensen's orgasms were like fucking birthing contractions: extreme and inescapable.  If he hadn't known better—if he hadn't known how frequently and how thoroughly Jensen had been fucked, how statistically certain it was that he'd been impregnated before Sam even arrived—Cas would have said he'd felt the moment of conception when Sam poured himself into Jensen, triggering a sublime climax.

Cas glances at the wreckage that is the bed.  At some point, the two kids had rearranged themselves, Jensen pulled into the curl of Sam's body.  Cas wonders if they're still tied. He lifts Jensen's knee: yup, Sam's still buried between the lips of Jensen's engorged cunt. The omega doesn't even move during this inspection: he is finally well and truly fucked out. Somehow, though, Sam senses it: he snarls in his sleep and his hand tightens possessively on Jensen's heavy, swollen belly.

 

 


	3. quickening ("big like its daddy")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more kinks, chiefly nipple play. This is actually the first part of this chapter, but all I'll have time to post today.

Jensen, inevitably, falls pregnant the night of his first breeding. He proceeds to swell up so quickly, it’s like his body was just waiting for the excuse.  Which it was, Cas supposes.  Cas can actually see his waist expanding from week to week, and the measurements in the breeding notebook confirm it. The boy carries low, a firm globe hanging from his hips, making even his walk look obscenely sensual. By the fourth month, when Jensen is presented before the council, his stomach is so big he has to sit with his legs spread, the dome of his belly resting between them. 

Jensen’s belly looks even more outsized because his tits haven’t caught up yet—each one is little more than a puffy handful, mostly areola. However, the sensitivity that came with that first breeding has never abated. If anything, it’s grown: for nearly a week at the end of his first trimester, Jensen went around shirtless because he couldn’t bear even the softest linen against his chest. Eventually, things become so desperate that Cas pokes around the cellar and comes out with the milking pump. The winter birthing pool inside the House is smaller than the one in the courtyard, so Cas kneels in the shallow end with Jensen between his legs. The young omega sighs with delight at the warm, lapping water. Against his own stomach, Cas can feel the tense muscles knitting the kid’s low back into his expanding hips. He’s a trooper, never complains, but Cas knows the changes wrought by pregnancy are intense on a teenage frame.

“Mmmm,” Jensen plays his wet fingers across the arc of his belly. “Please, Cas?” That’s another change; except for the ten days or so immediately after his breeding, when Jensen could hardly bear to be touched, he’s been _voracious_ ever since he got knocked up. Cas doesn’t even bother putting the toy chest away any more, and it seems like Sam is at the House more often than not. It’s hard to believe this was the boy who blushed at “front-hole” just a few months ago. Part of it is that Jensen is a good little soldier, and probably couldn’t indulge himself until his mission—impregnation—was complete. But it’s something beyond that. Most pregnant omegas have difficulty reaching the fierce orgasms that characterize heats.   There’s an old-wives tale about orgasms bringing on labour, but that’s perpetuated only because omegas generally orgasm during labour. Really, it’s just a change in hormone levels. Cas had never been bothered: he’d enjoyed the gentle, slow-building waves of his pregnancy pleasures. There had been none of that mind-melting need to be filled—because, of course, he was already as full as a person could be. Jensen, however, seems to be constantly chasing the all-consuming physical cataclysm that had given him that extraordinary belly to begin with.

“Not now, darling,” Cas kisses Jensen’s shoulder to take away the sting of denial, “Today I’m here for these.” He cups Jensen’s little tits in his palms. Jensen squirms. Cas has allowed a few curls of pubic hair above his cock, but has kept him shaved otherwise: in the water he is sleek as an eel.

“Don’t fuss,” Cas pinches a nipple in reproof. “I don’t know why you’re so stubborn about this.” Jensen doesn’t seem to mind his rapidly-growing stomach, and feels free to demand Cas’s fingers or mouth at any time of the day. But he’s shy to the point of shame about his tits. He’d gasped with each breeze and fidgeted with his tunic until finally Cas told him to just take the blessed thing off. Once bare-chested, though, he’d kept turning his back, answering over his shoulder when Cas spoke to him. No one could even enjoy the sight of his pretty, puffy mounds—which seems a waste, to Cas’s mind.

“They hurt,” Jensen pouts. “They’re—ow, _oh_ —sore.”

Cas can see why. Jensen’s always had big, smooth pecs, but now he has _breasts_. In Cas’s hands, they feel like heavy, soft-skinned fruit about to split their casings. Cas can sense the tension; they’re ready to burst. Jensen’s chest is enthusiastically trying to keep up with the developing belly (how many offspring are _in_ there, anyway?), but he’s just too small. There are injections, Cas remembers from one of the breeding notebooks: a midwife can administer them to help the skin stretch, but Cas will keep that as a last resort. The idea of a needle, sharp and cold, piercing the over-ripe flesh of Jensen’s aching baby titties…well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

Jensen is whimpering, even though Cas is just barely circling each nipple with his thumb. His summer tan is fading and Cas strokes where he can see the blue veins under the skin.

“Just let me try something, and then I’ll take care of you,” Cas offers.

Jensen’s slutty ass pushes back, automatically eager, but the obstinate little brat refuses to answer. Cas licks the rim of his ear. Sometimes, Jensen needs to be wooed. Cas suckles the lobe, tightens his knees around Jensen’s hips. “Can’t I have your cunt, lovely boy?”

That’s more than Jensen can ignore—Cas has never…and Sam is off on a hunting trip, and it’s just been _days_ and fingers can’t reach, and he’ll never be full enough. “Oh, yes! Yes, _please_.”

“Alright, then. Be brave just a few more minutes.” Cas kisses Jensen’s shoulder, his throat, distracting him as he readies the cups of the milker. It’s unlikely that Jensen is actually producing; according to the breeding notebooks, most omegas let down their milk in their seventh or eighth month, just a little earlier than females. The record was held by an experienced Babymaker who could be teased to produce in month six. Jensen is barely halfway there, and it’s only his first pregnancy. Still, the kid is precocious and highly receptive. Cas has to try: if there’s milk, or even colostrum, in Jensen’s ducts, that could explain why he’s so touchy.

The cups of the milker are lined with velvet and modeled after the mouths of infants. As offspring grow, they lose the cheek-pads of fat; the jaw and esophagus change to facilitate an adult pattern of chewing, but infants’ mouths are designed to create irresistible suction. On the milker, this suction is controlled by the balloon attached to the cups by long tubes. A clockwork gasket allows the suction to be changed. Setting four is roughly equivalent to a newborn, five to a six-month-old. Jensen yelps at three, but it’s hard to get a seal on wet skin, so Cas adjusts the gasket higher and quickly pumps the balloon a few times. He keeps one arm clamped firmly across Jensen's ribs, above his belly, to keep him in place. Finally, the cups begin to draw, sucking Jensen’s pink-brown buds into the tubing.

Jensen’s hands jump to his chest, startled by the new feeling, but he doesn’t interfere with the cups. Cas nudges the gasket to six, then gently places the balloon on the rim of the pool, careful to keep it out of the water.

“Ahhh—uhh, it’s too much. I _can’t_ , I—too much!” Jensen is panting, each breath making the milker pull at his chest.

“Shh,”   Cas brings Jensen’s hands down to his own thighs, so the kid has something to hang onto. “It’s good practice.” He slides his palms under Jensen’s half-submerged belly, hefts the weight. “Swear to the Goddess, you’ve got twins in there,” he teases.

Jensen huffs in time with the suckling tubes. “Nnnn—baby’s just big, like—ah, ah, _ah!_ —its daddy.” Cas wonders if he’s thinking of Sam…or John.

All Babymakers have multiple offspring eventually. After all, their fertility is carefully cultivated and during the breeding festivals, they are simply saturated with virile Alpha sperm. Jo had two sets of quadruplets, just one breeding apart. However, the first breeding usually only yields a single baby since the Babymaker’s eggs are still a little immature. Cas had been delivered of twins at his first confinement, but he was the only Babymaker in nine cycles to have more than a singleton for his initial birth. Had he been as big as Jensen?

Cas puts his thumb in Jensen’s belly-button, now grown shallow as he stretches from the inside. “Still, a big baby like that’ll be very hungry.” With his other hand, he twists the gasket on the balloon, and also flicks the alternator up a notch. Jensen’s fingers dig into Cas’s legs; he keens as both the rate and the suction increase. The milker is working hard enough that the titflesh vibrates around each cup. Cas presses around one seal: it’s still holding and the breast seems, if anything, denser, more swollen. Cas can’t tell if the ducts are filling with milk or if they’re just overstimulated. Jensen’s nipples are being drawn nearly an inch into the tubes, and there’s still no milk flowing into the suction balloon.

Jensen’s ribs work like bellows as he sucks in air. Cas can feel the young omega’s hips pulsing in time with the milker—he can’t fight the weight of his belly and the water, but he’s too aroused to sit still. His head drops forward, hangs. Cas licks the vulnerable nape of Jensen’s neck, nuzzling his damp hair.

“You’re doing so well, sweetness. D’you feel any milk coming in?”

“Hurts a’lil,” Jensen sounds faintly surprised. So far, his experiences with Cas have been so pleasurable.

“Do you want to stop?”

A long second of hesitation, just the rattle of the milker and the slosh of water, and then Jensen lets out a deep breath and shakes his head firmly.

Cas kisses his bare, wet shoulder. “Such a brave boy,” he croons, and then, made reckless by an unexpected surge of pride, “Shall I have you now?”

“Yes,” Jensen whines, “oh, yes, Cas!”

Cas instantly regrets offering—he’d wanted his first time in Jensen’s cunt to happen in a proper bed—but he can’t back down now. “C’mon, let’s go where it’s deeper,” he urges Jensen a few feet into the deep end of the pool. There is no decking here, so Cas has to let the balloon hang over the edge of the pool. When he hears a deep, wanton growl, he wonders if the kid has orgasmed from added weight drawing on his nipples. Almost: Jensen clings to the edge, keeping the milking apparatus mostly dry, but his lower half ripples. He has an ecstatic expression on his face, his hips temporarily free from their burden. In the deeper water, Jensen can float, his body regaining its virginal ease and lightness.

Cas turns the kid so he floats on his back, and guides his fingers over his head to grip the rim of the birthing pool. It’s awkward, but Jensen is buoyant and youthful and flexible. The position immobilizes Jensen’s arms, keeps his chest out of the water, and does amazing things for the muscles in his surprisingly masculine shoulder. Cas holds his wrists together with one hand while the other slides down the boy’s wet body, along the drum-tight dome. He fondles Jensen’s soft cock, his ballsac; their texture is intriguingly foreign under the water.

“When I’m inside, I’m going to let go of your hands,” he says, “and then I’m going to turn up the milker. I’ll need you to hold on. Okay?”

Jensen’s face creases with desperation. “Oh—okay. Just—now! Now, Cas.”

Cas can’t see his cock around Jensen’s stomach, but he can feel the thick lips of the vulva and imagines them parting around the head of his prick. The boy is deliciously tight inside, muscled but soft. Pregnant omegas produce less slick than when breeding, so even in the water Cas can enjoy the slight resistance of penetration. He rises on his toes, falling into Jensen’s cunt. The water he displaces washes over the island of Jensen’s belly.  

Four days ago, Cas had returned from getting herbs at the morning market to hear two young voices moaning in counterpoint in the bedroom.   It wasn’t the first morning Sam had sneaked over before school. (The sneaking wasn’t necessary—Jensen was safely pregnant, and obviously so—but boys will be boys, and these two seemed to like having their little secret). On that morning, Jensen had been on his knees, braced on his forearms, so that Sam’s rabbiting thrusts didn’t send him across the bed. His belly brushed the sheets each time Sam moved; the weight of it dragged Jensen’s back into a submissive bow. At the time, Cas had simply registered that soon Jensen would be too big to be fucked like that. Now, though, he is wondering how a cunt that could take Sam’s Alpha cock, that had—not too long ago—taken John, and Bobby, and Gabriel, could possibly feel so tight around his own.

Jensen bleats: his cock and clit are trapped in the angle between his swollen stomach and Cas’s body. Cas is about to move when Jensen’s long legs come up and cinch themselves around his waist. Now the kid is slung like a hammock between Cas and the edge of the pool. Cas cradles the boy’s hips, moves them a fraction, and feels the head of his cock draw across the ring of Jensen’s cervix. Jensen’s breath hitches and his thighs twitch.

“Hurt?”

“Nuh…just—tic, tickles?” Jensen gasps, sounding like he can’t find a word for the new sensation.

Cas arches his back, touches Jensen’s cervix again. The kid is sensitive there—no surprise. The surprise is that Cas can reach that depth with so little effort. After all, he’s not an Alpha, his cock is not that large—oh, but of course, Jensen is. Large. Full, inside. That, of course, is how he manages to be so tight. And despite Cas, despite Sam, he’s just going to get tighter.

Cas has never been particularly envious of Alphas. Once you’ve had a few slavering between your legs, fighting over you, begging to fill you, it’s hard to see them as the superior just because they have big cocks and high sperm-counts. But now, as he slides his hands up Jensen’s back, forcing an arch, encouraging the boy to undulate in the water, to pleasure himself against Cas’s body, he’s beginning to see the appeal. To have your own fertile omega, just on the masculine side of androgynous, a virginal teenager. Cas lets his eyes drift closed, listening to Jensen panting little hiccupy gasps, enjoying the slide of Jensen’s wet curves. An omega who couldn’t withstand Cas’s body, who was just so overflowing with his mate that he filled and then bulged with it. Not androgynous anymore, not virginal, a totally sexual being literally re-formed by desire.

Cas has his arms around Jensen’s hips to support his weight in the water. He can feel the muscles there working, can feel Jensen’s asscheeks flexing as he rolls himself on Cas’s cock. Would his imaginary omega work so hard? And if so, how would Cas reward him? Quick, little strokes like Sam? Cas tries it, immediately feels Jensen respond with fast pulsing clenches. Or something slow—now Jensen wails. Poor omega! Cas is not moving in time with the suction of the milker, and Jensen can’t decide which rhythm to follow. Cas had almost forgotten about it, the faint sucking sounds fading into the background of his fantasy.

Jensen is hanging from the rim, the muscles in his arms painfully visible. His tits are held high and separate above the water by the cups of the milker. The pressure makes them pale while the rest of him is beautifully flushed. Cas has to nearly fold him in half in order to reach the milker and push it to its highest setting. He’s got all of Jensen pressed against him, open and slick outside and inside. He can feel the swell of belly, the milker cups sucking more vigorously, he feels Jensen’s open mouth—kissing? gasping?—against his throat. Even the kid’s little cock is half-hard, something that hadn’t happened to Cas in seven pregnancies. Cas grips Jensen’s ass viciously, kneading with one hand, and strokes the boy's cock so gently with the other, just training it up against the curve of his stomach. He moves two fingers from Jensen’s clit to his thick cockhead and back, methodically tracing a route. “This,” he says, and he can feel the air scraping his lungs, the cum boiling in his tightening sac at the thought, “this is where my cock is, inside you. I’d be able to feel...to feel myself—in you—if, if you weren’t already _so. So fucking. Full_.”

Jensen shatters, hips pumping, stomach wobbling, moaning as he tumbles over the edge. Cas grits his teeth, nearly losing himself, almost falling into the throbbing pull of Jensen’s body, but he can’t…not yet. He shifts Jensen’s hips, hears him cry out even in the midst of his climax, feels the boy twinge inside as Cas butts roughly against his cervix. Cas dips under Jensen’s clit, slides two fingers into his fluttering cunt, crooks them, stretching him like he would if he had a knot. Then, and only then—deep, knotted, pressed right up against Jensen’s womb—Cas allows himself to come.

The spill inside sends Jensen into another orgasm, and then his contortions cause one tit to burst free, and the shock of air and water on his abused nipple make him come again. It’s somewhere in this third…or is it fourth?…that Cas feels it. He sweeps his palm along Jensen's twisting body and..yes, faint but definite, near the crease where Jensen's distended stomach folds into his hip, one of the offspring is kicking.

 ~~~

Jensen can’t be sure. “I don’t _know_ ,” he snaps the fourth time Cas asks him, “I’ve never _been_ pregnant before. I guess I’ve felt it? Them? I don’t know. What’s it supposed to feel like?” He is pressing his hands to various points on his belly (can a sphere have points?), but the surface remains smooth and taut as a drumhead.

Cas isn’t really sure how to describe the feeling of having something alive moving inside you, totally of its own volition. He always figure it for a “you know it when you feel it” sort of sensation, but evidently not. Err, evidently knot—it must be said that Jensen has had a lot of very lively things moving inside him lately. It’s that thought, the sort of raunchy pun that drifts into a sex-sodden brain, that gives him the idea of involving Sam.

Sam is a little nonplussed to find Cas waiting for him in the large bedroom when he arrives two days later. Not that you’d have to be a genius—Sam’s been gone nearly two weeks on a hunting trip, the pack had just returned last night, the school won’t open for another two hours, where else would you expect to find a lusty young Alpha? But Sam clearly thinks he’s been very subtle about sneaking in on mornings when Cas is out of the House.

“Uh, g-good morning, sir,” Sam stutters and he really is a sweet boy, rather like a puppy with his shaggy hair and gangly limbs. _Sir._ Cas likes the sound of that. Jensen has grown just a little demanding in his pregnancy, and it’s nice to come across someone who still recognizes Cas’s importance to this process. After all, the Keeper is essential at least until the first birthing and they’ve got a few months yet, despite Jensen’s increasing size.

“Good morning, Sam. Good hunt?”

“Y-yes. Very good, sir.”

“Well, that’s always nice to hear. Come in, have a seat,” Cas remembers saying exactly those words to Jensen, once. He steps behind Sam to close the door. “Say hello to Jensen. He’s been waiting for you.”

Sam obediently sits in the  chair next to the bed where Jensen is curled up in a nest of pillows, idly stoking his belly. Jensen turns up his face for a kiss and Sam, with a shy glance toward Cas, obliges. Jensen pulls away quickly, teeth catching on Sam’s lower lip, and then relenting, offering his mouth to Sam’s tongue, sliding his hand into Sam’s thick hair. Sam shifts one knee onto the bed, brings his hand up to Jensen’s belly without even removing his mouth from Jensen’s—“Goddess, you’re ev’bigger’n when I lef’,” he grunts between kisses. Jensen tips his head back, looking dazed, letting Sam mouth along his throat; already his breaths are hoarse little moans. “Oh..oooh, you should—oh, yes, _yes!…_ see my, uhhh, tits…”

“Can I?” Sam’s big paws are already fumbling with Jensen’s tunic when Cas clears his throat.

“A moment, boys?”

Sam’s head snaps up; he’s blushing furiously. It’s clear that, in the space of thirty seconds with Jensen, he’d completely forgotten Cas was still in the room. Jensen, in turn, nestles in next to the Alpha, looking as round and satisfied as the cat that ate the canary and a very large watermelon.

“Not to interrupt the proceedings—” Sam flushes even hotter, if that’s possible, darling child, “but there has been a _development_ , while you were away, Sam, that Jensen and I think you could help us explore.”

“Uh. Devel…?” Sam blinks.

“I’ve quickened,” Jensen says casually, nudging at Sam’s hand until it resumes stroking his hair.

Sam looks from Jensen to Cas and back again, forehead crumpling in concern. “Is that…I mean, are you—is it dangerous?”

His worry is so sweetly naïve. Cas forgets that Sam is even younger than Jensen and hasn’t had the same…well, let’s call it _practical, hands-on education_.

“Not at all, darling,” Cas sits in the chair that Sam vacated and puts a soothing hand on his knee. “It just means that the offspring are moving.”

“What?—you mean…inside?!”

Jensen laughs, “Yeah, inside, stupid!” he says fondly, and nips at Sam’s fingers. “It’s supposed to happen.”

“It is,” Cas confirms when Sam looks to him in surprise. “Quite an ordinary part of any breeding. In fact, it’s an important part of the Babymaker tradition. As soon as the quickening is confirmed, the Babymaker goes before the council and a midwife confirms the number of offspring. That way the Community can make arrangements for the offspring as new members.”

Sam’s eyes grow wide with amazement. “And you can feel it? Can I touch? How many, do you think? More than one?” Clearly, the idea of the offspring as living beings is beginning to take hold. Like Cas, like all Babymakers, Jensen is largely uninterested in the offspring as people. Babymakers are not parents, and so they have none of the concerns of parents (will she have your eyes? Can we name him after my father? What color in the nursery? What school, what profession?). The Council names the offspring, and the Orphan House raises them, and, for a very select few, the Keepe educates them. (Occasionally, there are fostering arrangements, as with Jo and Ellen Harvelle, but those are uncommon and special cases. As the old saying goes, “Once in a blue moon, rare as a female Babymaker.”) Sam, as an Alpha, probably a future Council member, is naturally thinking ahead.

Cas reins him in: “Yes, that’s the issue.”

“Are you all right? Are the babies?” Sam turns to Jensen anxiously.

“He’s fine,” Cas assures. “As are the offspring. They’re just a little…shy.”

Jensen drops his eyes demurely. “I can only feel them when I get…y’know. Close.”

“Clo—? Oh. Oh!” Sam is turning red again. Jensen gives him a wicked grin and sucks one of the Alpha’s fingers into his mouth.

“Yes,” Cas continues airily, as though he hasn’t noticed Jensen’s teasing. “We’ve been unable to determine the pattern of movement. My babies were always most active just after I woke up. Jensen’s seem to be excited by...well, by his excitement.” Is it possible, Cas wonders, for Sam to actually catch fire from blushing? “But we’d like to confirm that pattern before we go before the Council for the presentation ceremony, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Sam echoes.

“It would be embarrassing if I couldn’t,” Cas fishes for an appropriately clinical word, “ _elicit_ anything in the moment.”

“With the midwife there, and the Council, and everything,” Jensen adds.

Sam chews his lip. “Couldn’t you just. If it’s a natural progression. Couldn’t you just wait a few weeks? I mean, I don’t want to hurt anything and, anyway, eventually…” He fades away, but they all know what he’s thinking: eventually, Jensen will grow so big, and the babies so active, that their number will be obvious. “It can’t be more than a couple of weeks, right?”

Cas has nothing to say to that. Sam is completely right, and Jensen is bred: it doesn’t really matter when he’s presented to the Council. The number of offspring won’t change.

Jensen mindlessly brings a hand up to circle his stomach. “I think,” he muses. “I think I’d like to know as soon as possible. How many.” He glances up at Cas, then looks to Sam. “Just to be prepared.”

It is those last four words, and their very faint hint of nervousness, that persuades Sam onto his back amidst Jensen’s many pillows. “I won’t knot much,” the boy warns, panting as Jensen settles between his legs and begins to lick his cock. “I, I’ll pro’ly come, but…oh, Jen, _Goddess!_ ” Jensen looks up, mouth already full, and does something with his tongue that causes Sam to flop backwards.

Cas suspects that Sam will certainly knot a little. It won’t be the full-on breeding knot that would be triggered in rut. Sam’s body will know, from Jensen’s smell, from Jensen’s slick, that the omega is already pregnant and that a knot is, biologically, useless. Nevertheless, Sam is young and, as Cas has reason to know, Jensen is very tight. As for coming—well, that is guaranteed. But Cas will be in charge of that.

~~~

Cas helps Jensen squat over Sam’s cock, once it’s been sucked rigid. “We’ve never, like this,” Jensen says, and for a moment he looks innocent and virginal again, in spite of the gravid belly jutting from his hips.

“You’ll like it,” Cas assures him, “and you’ll soon be too big to be taken like a bitch.” It’s Sam that growls at the coarse language; Jensen is too busy working himself slowly down toward Sam’s abdomen.

As usual, Jensen stops—twice—convinced that the Alpha cock is too big, that it will split him in half, but Cas sits on Sam’s knees so the Alpha can’t move. He massages Jensen’s thighs and persuades him down until his balls are trapped between his round stomach and Sam’s flat one.

“There, now,” Cas teases, running his hands along Jensen’s trembling legs, “isn’t that more comfortable?” Sam looks savage: he’s is gripping handfuls of the sheets, like he might shred them if he can’t move in the next twenty seconds…move, preferably, into the hot omega cunt wrapped around his dick. “You can go like this all the way until the end,” Cas chirps, easing over to the edge of the bed. “Sometimes they even use this position to induce labour.”

Jensen makes an impatient, wordless noise, and nearly rips his tunic pulling it off. By the time he gets it over his head, Sam is already thrusting hard enough to lift him off the bed, offspring and all. The Alpha curses when he finally sees Jensen naked.

“Fuck, you’ve gotten so big. You get _more_ pregnant? Who’s been up this cunt,” Sam gasps, “while I’ve been gone?”

“L-language, Sammy,” Jensen’s voice jumps in pitch with each thrust. “Not. In front. Of the baby.”

And that’s how Cas learns that naïve little Sammy Winchester has a filthy mouth, and that Jensen, so recently a virgin, loves it.

~~~

They’re mesmerizing to watch: Sam’s acres of golden skin, tanned and muscled from hunting; Jensen just getting fleshy; and between them the enormous swell of belly. Jensen’s new tits bounce, smacking deliciously until Sam gets his big, long-fingered hands around them. Cas never did coax any milk out, but the nipples now look like they belong to a nursing mother and Sam is vocal in his praise. Once Sam starts in on what he’s going to do with his mouth, Jensen begins a new, rolling rhythm and that’s Cas’s cue. He quickly wraps one arm around, stilling Jensen’s hips, and reaches down to give Sam’s balls a savage twist.

Jensen wails in disappointment, his orgasm ruined, and Sam bares his teeth. “…the fuck?” Cas brings the Alpha’s big hand down and watches the astonishment on his face as he feels the flutter-kick within Jensen’s stomach.

~~~

Cas repeats his experiment twice more, just to be certain that the offspring are most active just before their omega climaxes. After the last trial, Jensen is nearly sobbing in frustration. Cas makes lay on his side among the pillows—he’s too strung out to ride Sam anymore—and spreads his slick thighs. His cunt is rosy and sore: he whimpers when Sam jacks himself, and pushes in again.  Sam has already come once, spilling accidentally on Jensen’s belly after the second trial, right above were his palm was pressed to feel the offspring.

  
"Can I, please, sir?"  Sam begs and it takes Cas a moment to realize he wants to make Jensen come.  And he does, but only after Cas nods his assent. 

Sam never makes it to school: the teens not really knotted, but too worn out to move.  Cas leaves them in bed when he goes to begin the preparations for Jensen's presentation to the Council.  They're still there when he returns, but this time he notices something.  He wouldn't normally have said Sam and Jensen looked similar;  Sam is big and built like an Alpha, while Jensen is smaller.  Maybe it's because they're sharing the same pillow, heads at the same angle, faces relaxed in sleep, but there is definitely a symmetry there that makes them look related.  Cousins, perhaps brothers.  Jensen is, of course, offspring of an earlier Babymaker and there may be no way to ever know, but Cas wouldn't be surprised it he'd been sired by John Winchester.

 

 


	4. presenting ("in very good hands")

The Babymaker is presented to the Council in the same filmy gown worn during the breeding festival procession. That’s why Cas had so carefully store Jensen’s away before the actual breeding began (and it’s a good thing he had: Jensen’s veil, which hadn’t received the same careful treatment, had ended up in sodden shreds, stained with paint and lipstick, crumpled under a pillow). Cas hadn’t thought much about the tradition when he had been partaking in it, but during his hiatus, one of his more adventurous lovers had invited him to a costume party full of adults in school-boy uniforms, cheerleader skirts, babydoll pyjamas. At the time, Cas had never slept with anyone younger than he was, but he’d had to admit the conjunction of very grown-up bodies in childish clothing had been curiously appealing. Now he can’t help but wonder if the costuming tradition for the presentation isn’t meant to be similarly erotic.

Jensen’s gown had, naturally, been fitted to Jensen’s body before he’d been bred, his virginal body: slim and spare and male. The wide-shouldered high-waisted bodice had needed the half-corset to give him any shape at all, and the flowing skirt had been split up the middle, right to Jensen’s sternum, so he could straddle the palanquin and so that Council-member selected to confirm his virginity could get at his cunt. It even smells faintly like Jensen—like Jensen, _before_ : fresh and spicy, like newly-mown grass. Cas takes a deep breath when he opens the storage box; he’d forgotten that Jensen had ever had anything other than his current, rich scent of ripeness. It’s a good thing Sam won’t be participating in the Presentation ceremony: just a whiff and the young Alpha would probably break something.

As he had the first time, Jensen allows himself to be dressed like a doll. His shoulders and arms are still broad and muscled, so the sleeves fit easily. The bodice, however, pulls tight across his chest, tucking itself under his new tits, making them even more obvious. It’s actually good, for once, that his breasts aren’t any bigger.

“Can’t breathe,” Jensen complains, and Cas kisses the bare skin of his back where the buttons gape. He’s asked the midwife to stay after the presentation and administer the injections to keep their growth aligned with the rest of Jensen’s body. After all, Jensen’s stretched about as far as he can go, and his milk hasn’t even come in yet. Soon, though, Cas thinks, as he sits Jensen on his lap and mouths at his nipples through the lace of the gown. Under his tongue, he can sense a change, a roughening of the texture of the aureole, a thickening of the tissue.  Will Jensen make it to six months dry? He is so _advanced_ for his age!

Cas suckles until Jensen is whimpering and clawing at his shoulders, until his erect nipples are a pretty mauve colour, plainly visible through the gown. (Later, when Cas undresses Jensen, the boy’s tits will bear a faint tracery of the bodice’s lace fabric, from having been pressed up against it for so long).

The gown itself doesn’t even pretend to cover Jensen’s stomach, despite all the extra panels of fabric that had made him look so endearingly petite on his breeding day. Cas paints the prescribed sigils on skin stretched as well as any canvas and manages to pin the gown closed, but the front of the skirt still hangs a foot higher than the back and the fabric is stretched to transparency around the lowest curve of Jensen’s belly. In the shadow of that belly, Cas can see the kid’s cock. Wearing this costume again arouses Jensen’s memories of breeding, arouses Jensen. From the back, given the gauzy fabric, he almost looks the same as he had in August: the strong triangle of his shoulders and back narrowing to a nicely-rounded ass and strong thighs. From the front, he looks like the fertility Goddess herself, bursting and fecund. Or he will, Cas decides, once his tits lose that teen-girl tightness.

The Councillors come to the House of the Babymaker for the Presentation, as a show of respect, so Cas brings Jensen to the reception room to wait for them. Gabriel had come over that morning with the breeding throne, and it sits in the back of the room. Tradition says this had been used to hold the Babymakers back when they were bred by each and every male in the Community on a public stage during a three-day orgy. Cas had examined it and confirmed what Lucifer had told him ages ago: the mechanism that works the stirrups is far too modern for that to be true. “Old, but not _that_ old. Probably the last in a long line of breeding benches—imagine what _they’ve_ seen,” Lucifer had said lewdly, those many years ago, “Makes a good story, though,” And it does.

Cas remembers, through the blur of years and long-ago heat, the way those stirrups has spread him, spread until he thought his hips would crack with being so _open_. He’d never been bred in it, of course. As he’d told Jensen, every one of his offspring had been conceived in the House, in the large bed where Jensen had been bred. But Babymakers were placed in the breeding throne during their first breeding festival procession so that a Councillor could confirm their virginity and, in later cycles— _thick fingers working deeper, gentle but unrelenting, a big palm hot on Cas’s stomach, then shifting Cas’s hips, angling for the os of the uterus, checking its texture and tightness_ —the fact that they were not already pregnant. And, of course, the midwife will use it to make her examination after the Presentation.

Jensen had wandered over to it when they’d entered the room, the sway of his burdened walk making his ass twitch temptingly under the gauzy skirt. He’d stroked the new, velvety upholstery. Does he recognize it from his breeding procession? It’s a memorable piece of furniture: a solid carved chair with a high, very narrow back, tilted so the stirrups angle out like grasshopper’s legs. Not like anything else in The Community. However, on the day of his breeding, Jensen’s had been high on an intense cocktail of heat hormones, aphrodisiacs, and animal neediness--even before the traditional twelve toasts. It would be enough to scramble anyone, never mind someone as young and innocent as Jensen had been. Cas occasionally wonders what Jensen remembers from his first breeding.

“You can sit in it, if you want,” Cas had offered. “Try it out.”

But Jensen had brought the hand on the chair up to cup his heavy belly. “No need; I’ll fit just fine,” he’d replied with a smug, dreamy little smile that makes Cas suspect he remembers his breeding day very well, indeed.

There is another chair at the opposite end of the room and Jensen, groaning slightly, lowers himself into this one. He sits, legs spraddled to leave room for his swollen stomach, and awaits the Council.

When the five Alphas arrive, they each salute Jensen as the Babymaker, bowing to kiss his forehead, bowing lower to kiss each breast, and finally kneeling to kiss his belly. Cas had seen Bobby’s eyes widen when he saw Jensen and he only wishes he hadn't been busy lighting the fire in the fireplace when John had entered. Has Sam mentioned to his father just how quickly Jensen had developed?

Gabriel is the only one of the Council who has seen Jensen in weeks. Cas had let him steal a peek this morning after supervising the delivery of the breeding throne. (“Good Goddess, he’s beautiful,” Gabe had whispered, his breath hot on the back of Cas’s neck as they’d watched the sleeping omega. “And bigger than Jo was at four months, except with the quads. ‘Cept for the tits, he’s big as you, with the twins.” And Gabriel’s hand had wandered around to Cas’s stomach…had wandered lower. Cas had been Gabriel’s first Babymaker, back when he’d been appointed to the Council. He’d liked to tease that he’d sired at least one of the triplets Cas had birthed that year. “No time,” Cas had warned, feeling Gabriel’s cock thickening. “I’ve got to get him up and dressed and—” “There’s always time,” Gabe had breathed, and had proven it by rubbing himself off quite satisfactorily against Cas’s hip while stripping Cas’s cock. The whole time he’d kept one hand kneading low on Cas’s flat belly, moving only at the last minute to cover Cas’s mouth when he came. “Shhh,” Gabe had soothed, trembling himself, “let the kid sleep.”)

After the Council members have taken their seats, Bobby stands up. He has a list of questions, the same questions he’s asked every Babymaker since he’s been appointed to this position, but something about Jensen’s unexpected fertility makes him stumble over the first few.

“So, uh. You’re pregnant.”

Jensen smiles his catlike smile. “Obviously.”

Bobby clears his throat. “’N when did that happen?”

Jensen gives the date of the breeding festival.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Couldn’tve been earlier? You’re awful big.”

Cas had warned Jensen that this would be an issue. “They have to ask. It’s important for the ritual that the Babymaker is impregnated during the festival. They all know you were”—“damn straight,” Jensen had huffed, “we were all there”—“but it’s tradition to ask, And you are big. Just answer respectfully.”

“Before that date, I was a virgin. As you gentlemen may recall,” Jensen says loftily and if he can feel Cas’s reproving glare, he doesn’t react. “If I am large, it is because I was bred by Alphas.” He shifts in his chair as he says this, and perhaps he’s just relieving the strain on his back, but his new position thrusts his hips forward, highlighting his luscious roundness. Nearly spilling out of his gown, Jensen looks good enough to eat. Cas hears someone growl, faintly.

“And who is the father of these offspring?” Bobby hurries ahead, returning to his script now.

“An Alpha,” Jensen replies, the traditional answer, no opportunity for teasing.

“And how many offspring do you carry?”

Jensen looks down the row of the Councillors, slowly letting his hand circle his stomach. He twines one foot innocently around the leg of the chair. “I don’t know,” he replies with a shrug that has every eye in the room focused on his breasts. (Sam has taken to calling Jensen “sweet-tits,” a nickname Jensen claims to hate but which, it cannot be denied, does suit him very well).  

Most Babymakers can’t tell how many offspring they have, especially if they’re pregnant for the first time. After a few birthings, Cas had been able to identify when he carried just one baby, but he’d needed the midwife to confirm his second set of twins and the triplets had been a surprise to everyone.  Jensen’s answer isn’t unexpected. Bobby reads out the standard summoning for the midwife and when Ellen appears, she and Cas lead Jensen around the Councillor’s bench to the breeding throne.

Ellen hadn’t been the midwife when Cas had been a Babymaker, although she had assisted during his last birthing. (There had been twins, big ones, and Cas had been tired after seven years of pregnancy). She’d been promoted when Jo had become Babymaker; female Babymakers being so rare, it made sense to have a female-type midwife. She’d been allowed to adopt Jo out of the Orphan House and her appointment had been an excellent choice. Like most Keepers, Jo’s had chosen to leave after the first birthing. Ellen had seen Jo through the last six pregnancies, including both sets of quadruplets. Jensen is in very good hands.

Cas had met with Ellen soon after he’d announced the quickening to the Council. He’d asked about the injections and answered her questions. Yes, Jensen seemed very healthy.   No, there hadn’t been excessive morning sickness or any other adverse responses. Yes, Cas had observed the quickening, under specific circumstances. (“What circumstances?” “Usually when he’s right on the brink of coming and then…” Ellen had smiled, “Well, that should be fun.”) No, Cas really couldn’t say how many offspring the boy carried: on one hand, he looked big for four months; on the other hand, he was still a teenager and he’d been bred by some enormous Alphas, any one of whom could be the father. Jensen seemed convinced he was carrying one large baby, but then, Jensen also seemed to think that Sam’s sperm—plentiful, yes, but immature and arriving very late in the game—had beaten out all the earlier contestants in the race to fertilize Jensen’s eggs. Was the boy being practical or romantic?

The breeding throne has been placed in front of the blazing fireplace, with little bowls of oil placed to warm along the mantelpiece. It is behind the bench where the Councillors sit and tradition forbids them from turning around. They can _hear_ the ceremony, but they cannot look upon the Babymaker. That is the way of these things. The Councillors draw lots to see who will confirm the quickening. John draws the short straw, so Ellen efficiently leads him to the corner near the fireplace and blindfolds him. Gabe winks at Cas before turning around to face the far wall.

Cas arranges Jensen in the breeding throne; he unpins the gown so the dome of the boy’s belly is exposed and fits his legs into the stirrups. Jensen obediently closes his eyes, allows Cas to tie the blindfold snugly. He opens his prettily painted mouth for the gag without being asked. He permits Ellen to lead his arms behind his back, to cross his wrists and tie them at the back of the throne. That is the way of these things.

It’s curious: the Council takes no part in the birthing and they leave the Keeper and the Babymaker alone for months at a time. The rituals extend only to the breeding and to the presentation, but those rituals are inviolable.  Cas hadn’t thought about any of this when he’d been a Babymaker. He’d been young and horny, only too delighted to find that he could serve The Community by opening his legs and letting big-cocked Alphas fill him up. Now, having read all the breeding notebooks and distilled their information to shepherd a more inquisitive young omega through the rituals, he can see the political machinations. The breeding process is meant to make sure that all families, in the form of Alphas from the Head of the Council to the youngest knotting schoolboy, have an equal chance at knocking up the Babymaker. That’s why he must be a virgin before his breeding, why he must be shown not to be pregnant during the procession, and to be _very_ pregnant some months later, at the presentation. It’s also why, once he’s bred up, he can sleep with whomever he chooses. (Or whomever she chooses. Jo, Cas has heard, kept a stable of lovers and changed it up with each pregnancy). The rituals all enforce anonymity. Things fall apart if anyone knows who has sired the offspring: there will be jealousy, feuds, factions. The offspring will be claimed by families instead of being raised by the whole Community; the larger families will become too powerful; the smaller families will feel under-represented.  

Ellen slowly pours a stream of warmed oil onto Jensen’s belly. Jensen sighs around his gag as she begins to work it into his skin. Cas starts to turn the winch, each revolution pushing the stirrups farther apart. If the breeding is about anonymity, the presentation is about impersonality. Cas has read that in the past, whole courts witnessed royal births to guarantee that no-one substituted a boy for a girl, or a commoner for the legitimate heir. The presentation serves the same purpose: the midwife—always a beta, and therefore presumed to be unbiased—will ascertain how many offspring the Babymaker carries and no one, not the Council, not the blindfolded Babymaker himself, is allowed to interfere or influence.

Jensen begins to whimper when the stirrups are a foot and a half apart, so Cas pauses and borrows some of Ellen’s oil. He works it into the kid’s hips and thighs, the gangly legs and knobby knees still undeniably those of a teenaged boy. Once relaxed, Jensen opens another ten inches. Even Ellen looks impressed as Cas binds Jensen’s straining thighs to the stirrups with leather thongs. Other restraints go around his chest—another whimper as Ellen lifts his tits out of the way—and below his belly. His toes are already curling as Cas wraps the last bonds around his ankles. Jensen’s belly gleams with oil and firelight as Cas surveys their work. The little omega is thoroughly tied; the Council is forbidden to look; John, the observing Alpha, is blindfolded. The midwife is standing by and Cas knows her to be an incorruptible woman. She will determine the number of offspring Jensen is carrying and, in a few more months, she will bring forth that number and no one will add, subtract, or falsify them. Cas bends his head, accepts his own blindfold, and then kneels to take Jensen’s ball sack into his mouth.  

Jensen clearly expected Cas to go straight for his cunt, but Cas devotes himself to the kid's cock.  He eases his fingers in and against Jensen's prostate. It doesn't take much; in minutes, Cas can hear his rough breathing.  Jensen whines around the gag when Cas gives his cock a sharp twist and sits back; he wriggles against his bounds to try and get more contact, but Cas waits until he is still before resuming.  Cas brings Jensen to the brink once more, and then, when the sounds from behind the gag are truly desperate, he gently pushes him over.  

Cas rips off his blindfold, blinking in the firelight, and watches Ellen. She has a funny little ear-horn that she presses against Jensen’s belly, though what can she hear over Jensen’s gasping? Soon, she sets it aside and begins expertly moving her hands over Jensen’s bump, identifying each twitch and pulse, as the bound boy writhes under her palms. “One…yes, and a foot. Elbow?” Ellen mutters to herself. “Oh, there’s a…two. Definitely. Maybe.” She pushes back with the flat of her hand, occasionally, and Cas has a sudden sense memory of Ellen leaning her weight into his belly as he’d laboured, pressing one of the twins into the proper position for birthing. It had made him orgasm seven years ago, feeling the strength of her move the child through his womb and it nearly brings him off again, suppressants be damned, as between them Jensen moans and strains against his bonds.

“Two, for sure,” Ellen whispers, “and maybe…” She puts Cas’s hand just below Jensen’s belly button, right where a dark line of skin is beginning to form. “I’m pretty sure, but I can’t tell,” she says. And Can’t either. He can feel—something, a little spasm, deep inside. But whether it’s another baby or an aftershock, he can’t tell.

“D’you think you can get him to go again?” Ellen asks, and her voice is still low but Jensen overhears and sobs around the gag in his mouth.

Cas walks around to his side. The boy’s cheeks are wet below the blindfold, sweat or tears. Cas unties the gag, pulls the ball from the kid’s mouth with a faint “pop,” and replaces it with his tongue. Jensen’s lips are dry, but he lifts his head into the kiss as much as he can, always so desperate to be touched after he comes. “I can’t, not again,” he whines into Cas’s mouth. Cas lets his kisses meander down Jensen’s throat, up to his ear, so his words are just for Jensen.

“That’s what you said right before you took John the Council’s knot,” he says, his hand on Jensen’s jaw, “ _I can’t_ you said, but you did, you took it all, and then you took all the others. It’s what you said when I taught you how to ride Sam—you know how much he likes that, you on top of him.” Jensen gurgles at that thought and Cas slips his thumb into the boy’s mouth, puts some force into his whisper. “All I hear from you: can’t and won’t. But you do, and you can, sweet-tits,” another gurgle at Sam’s nickname. “Now, Ellen wants to double-check, wants to make sure how many babies you’re carrying, and then let an Alpha confirm it. You gonna tell her no?”

Jensen shakes his head.

“Of course not. You’re going to let me tease you, just a little, so she can get what she needs, okay?” Cas moves his thumb so the boy can answer.

“Yessir,” Jensen says, hoarsely, and leaves his mouth open until Cas fits the gag back in.

“Good boy,” Cas kisses his forehead, “it’ll be good practice.” Jensen squirms. That is how Cas persuades him into taking bigger toys, into tolerating the milking machine, into trying the new positions that stretch him so beautifully. At first it was to help a young virgin understand knotting, but now they both know that when Jensen practices pushing his body’s limits it’s for one inevitable thing: pushing his big, heavy offspring out of his over-stuffed womb. However many there are.

“How can I help?” Ellen whispers when Cas has walked back to stand between the stirrups. She is close enough that he could turn and kiss her, too. So he does. He pulls away, finally, to survey Jensen. The kid is tired and he’s been brought to the edge so many times that maybe the offspring have grown used to the ebb and flow of orgasm. “Play with his tits,” Cas says at last, “but be gentle.”

Cas starts with Jensen’s cunt this time…two fingers, three, and his mouth on the boy’s clit. He can feel when Ellen starts in, because Jensen cries out behind the gag and starts to move his hips, infinitesimally, despite the bonds. Slowly, Cas counts down from ten. When he reaches one, when he can hear Jensen’s muffled cries again, he pulls his fingers out and bites down hard on the inside of the kid’s thigh. With that orgasm effectively derailed, he waits until he sees the boy’s toes unclench and then starts again, gently blowing a stream of air against his wet pussy. After that, he teases Jensen’s prostate until the sore little cock struggles to half-hardness. Cas jacks him carefully, avoiding the too sensitive head, and watches across the length of Jensen’s body as Ellen’s oiled fingers circle the boy’s tits. Twice they sync their movements and then slow to stillness. Jensen’s head thrashes, his stifled panting full of rough begging.

Cas had never put his blindfold back on, but now he closes his eyes, tries to imagine what this sounds like to the Councillors, to John: the fire crackling, Jensen’s sweet muffled pleading, the wet sound of oiled flesh. He puts two fingers back into Jensen’s cunt, feels the boy clenching around them, adding a new sound to the symphony. He opens his eyes. Ellen is watching him, her own eyes gleaming with excitement. Leaving one hand to pluck at Jensen’s nipples, she sends the other down over the swell of his stomach, and then she nods. Cas watches the rhythm of Ellen’s fingers and mimics that when he thumbs Jensen’s clit, when he tongues the frenulum of his cock. He begins the slow count in his head, but this time he doesn’t stop at one. He is at negative four when Jensen’s whole body starts to quake, at negative six when the tremors coalesce. To the councilors, this final orgasm must sound like tearing threads and creaking wood, because Jensen throws back his head, whole body going so rigid that Cas could trace the muscles in his legs. He howls silently into his gag. Ellen puts one hand immediately to the questionable spot below Jensen’s belly button, and then she abandons Jensen’s nipples entirely, triggering another round of pleasure. She brings John, still blindfolded, to the side of the breeding throne and guides his big rough hands over the roiling surface of Jensen’s stomach. “Here’s the first baby, that’s a foot…And then, up here—feel that? Yes, another foot, but far enough away that it must be a second baby. Both pretty big, though. And then here—that’s number three.”

When John pushes up his blindfold and ducks to undo Jensen’s bound arms, Cas leans forward and puts his hand on the spot Ellen had indicated. And now he can feel it, no doubt, a third child roused at last and kicking away.

Ellen has stepped away to wash her hands, and John in his haste to untie Jensen, hadn’t realized that Cas isn’t wearing his blindfold. So Cas is the only and unintended witness to John pressing desperate kisses to Jensen’s mouth, still held open by the gag. “Triplets—you’ve got _three_ in there, my amazing boy,” John growls, his hand splayed on Jensen’s gleaming belly. Jensen’s fingers, pins-and-needles clumsy after having been tied so long, grasp at John’s hair, at his shoulders, pulling him closer, like three is not enough.

 


	5. piercing ("and they're not small")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (A lot) more breasst-play and...sort-of medical kink? Nothing too graphic, but if you don't like needles, consider yourselves warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, we’re running out of time here and soon Jensen’s going to need to produce some babies. Does he go naturally? Should he be induced—and if so, how? (or, should I say: by whom?). I leave it in your hands, gentle readers: put your thoughts in the comments and I’ll write whichever scenario gets 5 comments first.

John has to carry Jensen to bed; the little omega is limp with exhausted satiation.   Between them, Cas and Ellen had pushed him to climax six times (plus, Cas knows for a fact Sam had him twice just that morning, and Sam almost never leaves Jensen without an orgasm). The teasing and denial had been necessary to get an accurate sense of just how many offspring he carried, but Cas is also hoping it will ease the next part of the evening.

Ellen goes to the kitchen to ready her tools, and Cas extinguishes the fire in the reception room. The other Councillors bid him a swift goodnight. All except Gabriel walk with the careful gait indicative of painfully-swollen Alpha balls. “Good night,” Gabriel is the last to leave, and his voice drops, teasingly, “and good thing I took the edge off earlier. Your sweet omega is the hottest thing I’ve, well, _heard_ in the longest time.” He helps collect the little dishes of oil and, as he hands them to Cas at the door, he steals a quick kiss. “Still think you were bigger, with the last twins.”

Cas goes to fill the large bathtub with hot water and scented herbs. As he passes the dim bedroom, he can see Jensen curled on the bed. John is kneeling at his side, gently stroking the boy’s hair. John’s other hand is working steadily under his own leggings, and Cas can only imagine what sweet nothings he is whispering in Jensen’s ear. It’s a pretty lamplit tableau, but Cas has work to do, so he makes enough noise in the linen closet that John is presentable—if slightly flushed—when Cas returns to ask him to carry Jensen to the bath.

Cas dismisses the Head of Council firmly at the door and settles a pliant Jensen into the water. He carefully sponges away oil, sweat, spunk. How remarkable it is that Jensen is still ejaculating this far into his pregnancy; he really is an unbelievable hormonal specimen! Cas makes a mental note about adding to the breeding book and begins to peel away the gown, now truly ruined. No matter; the kid will have something else to wear after tonight. The warm water revives Jensen enough to run his soapy hands lazily over his body.

“I feel tighter,” he says, words thick with fatigue, “jus’ knowin’ there’s three. Really thought…jus’ th’ one.”

“Don’t worry about it; it can be hard to tell, especially your first time,” Cas explains. Jensen’s writhing on the breeding throne has torn a hole in the seam under one arm, so he just rips the delicate fabric, widening it to free the kid’s shoulders. “Multiples in females always have the same sire so they’re close together when they’re growing. Omegas, not so much.”

“So Jo’s quads…?”

“Yup, just one sperm each time.”

“Weird!” Jensen smiles at the odd idea. “And these?” Jensen cradles his swollen stomach. He’d never think to say _and mine?_ The offspring belong to The Community; he’s just holding them for a while.

“Hard to tell—sit up, if you can, there we go.” Cas drops the torn gown to the floor. “If two or three share the same amniotic sac, then that means they have the same sire. But an omega could have three eggs fertilized by three different Alphas.” He lets his hand wander across Jensen’s smooth stretched belly. “Rare, but it does happen when you’re bred so frequently and, uh, vigorously. Omega bodies can get confused.”

“How’ll we know?”

“We won’t, not ‘til they’re born. If they share the same sac, they’ll be a little smaller—less room to grow inside. None of my triplets were much more than ten pounds.” The last set of twins, though, had been thirteen and fifteen pounds apiece: different fathers, big virile Alphas. The stubborn thirteen-pounder—the one Cas thinks of as John’s baby—had been breech until Ellen had twisted it around. Cas had laboured for _ages_ , wracked with pleasure as each contraction rolled the baby first against his g-spot, then along the internal side of his prostate.  His legs go weak just remembering it and he sits on the rim of the tub. He doesn’t say anything to Jensen, though: no use promising the boy things he can’t guarantee.

Jensen doesn’t notice; he’s absentmindedly drawing patterns around his belly button with a wet finger. “That’s still thirty pounds,” he mumbles drowsily. He doesn’t seem terribly opposed to the idea.

Cas wraps Jensen well against the cold and guides him back to the bedroom.

“C’n walk, y’know,” Jensen complains, but he’s half asleep even as he says it.

Sam and Ellen have hauled the breeding throne across the courtyard from the reception room, set it up in front of a blazing fire in the bedroom. Cas hadn’t wanted to use it again, thought Jensen might have negative associations after all their teasing, but Ellen had insisted. “These tools are sharp,” she said, “I want him relaxed but tied before I even start.”

They’d compromised by agreeing to let Sam restrain Jensen’s arms, and the young Alpha immediately takes up his position behind the throne as soon as Cas pours the loose-limbed omega into it. Ellen has adjusted the tilt from 180 degrees to just past 90, so Jensen is more or less upright and Cas fits the stirrups to a the wide-legged stance Jensen has had to adopt to accommodate his stomach.

Sam gets as close as the furniture will allow, wrapping one broad arm under Jensen’s belly. “Heard you got knocked up but good, little sweet-tits,” he croons quietly. Seated, he has to crane his neck to kiss Jensen, licking at the sides of his mouth where the skin is a little raw from the gag.

“Three,” Jensen moans.

“Mmm, but how many are mine?”

“Less flirting, more sucking,” Ellen calls, all business as she prepares the injection.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Sam breathes, shifting his chair to the side of the throne so he can get his mouth on Jensen’s nipple. “My pleasure.”

Jensen sighs, mindlessly twining his fingers in Sam’s over-long hair as the Alpha suckles his nipples to hard, red points. When Ellen hands Cas the set of ampoules, six little vials in a wooden crate, Sam resumes his position behind Jensen. Ellen had read him the riot act when she was explaining the procedure to Jensen, and she’d sworn she’d throw him out of the House if he didn’t stick to the script. His role is to hold Jensen’s hands behind the chair and nothing more.

Ellen takes one vial, flicks it to settle the contents, and then fills a long, thin needle. The concoction that fills the reservoir is a dark, rich blue. Ellen nods to Cas, who cups the boy’s left tit. He allows himself to squeeze just once: a compact, perfect handful.

“Deep breath now, sweetie,” Ellen says, and then she eases the needle into Jensen’s flesh, right where his skin draws into the nipple. Jensen gasps as a bead of blood wells up, runs down the curve of his breast. Cas sees his shoulders tense, but Sam is holding him too tightly for the motion to dislodge the needle before Ellen depresses it. She injects a third of the vial, then pauses, then another third…When she finishes, Cas hands her a second vial and she braces her hand on Jensen’s sternum before starting on the other side.

The effect is extraordinary in part because it’s so immediate. Cas knows—Ellen has explained—that the fluid will be absorbed into the skin before long, rendering it pliable and enabling the tissue below to expand as it should, slowly and naturally. But in the interval, Jensen’s tits grow with each drop of the injection, inflating until they wobble like water balloons.

Jensen draws a long, whimpering breath each time Ellen plunges the depressor, and then lets it out in a series of tiny gasps as his tits bloom. They are the same adorable, pained noises he’d made when his breeding reflex kicked in, when he just _had_ to move around some big Alpha knot, even though he knew it was going to hurt. He doesn’t get hard, but the fourth vial makes his toes curl and he wriggles the way he does when Cas touches his cockhead too soon after coming, like he’s so sensitive he can hardly bear his own skin.   He’s belted into the breeding throne, though, with Sam still restricting his hands, so all the movement does is make his tits quiver.

“Gonna get so big, Jen—fill up to feed our babies. Know it hurts, so brave, just taking it. Can’t wait to put my mouth on you, know just how you want it…” Sam keeps up a constant, explicit litany, but Jensen barely acknowledges it. His glassy eyes follow the tip of Ellen’s needle, even though he hardly has the energy to lift his head: from ampoule into skin, first left side then right.

Halfway through the fourth vial, Jensen’s eyes overfill, teartracks glimmering in the candlelight. Cas licks the salt from his cheek.

“Do you want—” Ellen begins gently.

“Nnnn,” Jensen growls. “More, Ellen.”

“We can…” Cas starts. He knows Jensen likes a little pain, suspects he always will, given how he lost his virginity, but the boy has already had a lot tonight. No need to push it.

“There are three of them,” Jensen’s voice is ragged. “And they’re not small.” He squares his shoulders, winces. “More.”

~~~

“ I can inject you, too,” Ellen offers, later, when they’ve put Jensen to bed and crawled back to Cas’s own.

“Mmm, yeah?” Cas slings an arm around her waist, keeping her on top even as his cock softens within her. “Did Jensen tell you I like anatomical pillow talk?”

Ellen’s laugh is husky and gorgeous. “Don’t have to sweet-talk you, honey…I’ve already had my wicked way with you.”

“I noticed,” Cas ducks to take one of her large, soft nipples into his mouth. Ellen moans and ruffles his hair.

“Tease! I’m serious. Jo had a milk surrogate for the quads, both times. She couldn’t have produced enough on her own.”

“You don’t think Jensen is having…?!”

That irresistible laugh again. “Oh, Goddess, _no_. Can you imagine? Poor kid would barely be able to move by eight months. No, but omegas produce less milk than females and he’s right…those three are gonna be big eaters. You should talk to him, see what he thinks about it. It would only be for a few months, anyway. Any omega could do it, but..,” Ellen pinches Cas’s right nipple and easily rides the surge when his hips come off the mattress. “I think you’d like it.”

She gives him a wicked smile and then puts her mouth on him, alternating between pinching and sucking. Cas tries vainly to keep his mind on practicalities: it would only be a few months—eight weeks at the most, before the offspring are weaned and the Babymaker is bred up all over again. The second time will be easier: Jensen won’t need Cas to hold him down, open him up…

“Oh, you do like it,” Ellen whispers, “I can feel how much. You’re getting harder, in me.”

Cas squirms, reminded of the clinical scrutiny (what keeps him wet? what makes him fertile? how can we enhance it?) that he hasn’t felt since he was a Babymaker himself.

Ellen settles her weight on him, like she can sense his discomfort and wants to calm him. She sets her head in the notch of his shoulder and lets her hand smooth down his flank. For a moment, the only movement is her pussy, squeezing him inside, bringing him to hardness.

“Do you ever think about having more babies? For your own?” She is mindlessly running her fingertips over Cas’s silvered stretch marks—there is a cluster over his right hip, more visible than elsewhere, Cas doesn’t know why. It could almost be an idle question, except for the pleased noise she makes when he rocks his hips up involuntarily. Her breath on his spit-wet nipple makes it pucker, or maybe it’s the idea of being bred again. Cas _hadn’t_ seriously considered it—well, other than sporadic fantasies as he’s watched Jensen swell bigger and bigger. Of course, those fantasies have been more frequent since he’s had occasion to watch Sam and Jensen together, the Alpha working like he could put yet another baby in Jensen’s already-full womb. Sam was so young, so eager, it had made Cas wonder once or twice if Jensen’s friend would be able to resist impregnating another fertile omega, should one present himself.

“You could, you know—you’re still young.” Ellen whispers, “No reason you couldn’t find yourself a nice Alpha...”

Cas grunts, slides his hands down her back, grabs handfuls of her soft ass. He grinds into her wetness, where her womb would be if she were Jensen and he were Sam. In his experience, breeding had been work: as pleasurable as fucking, but to an end dictated by others. Parenthood had never entered into it. But Cas has to admit that taking care of Jensen, shepherding him through all the experiences of being Babymaker, taking pride in how he’s changed…he’d begun to wonder if there weren’t some way to prolong that. To have that, and also the freedom of hiatus, of fucking without consequence. And if he can’t have both, which would he choose? He’s abandoned anything elaborate now, just thrusting up into Ellen where he’s holding her down: eight inches of determined movement that have her digging her nails into his shoulder and whimpering into his ear.

“Find yourself—oh, oh, _Goddess_ —a nice, _big_ Alpha,” she pants, “let’em fill you up. Prob’ly still so fertile from all those years breedin’ professional— _ah_! Have your own set of quads, carry ‘em an’ pop ‘em out…”

Cas’s orgasm turns him inside out, even though it’s his second, even though he’s exhausted from preparing all day for Jensen’s presentation. Fucking suppressants just don’t seem to work when he recognizes that the fullness Ellen’s pussy is pulling out of his balls is distant cousin to the fullness of breeding, of being bred.

~~~

Cas wakes late the next morning. Late and a little sore: Ellen had three fingers in his cunt before he’d come so hard that his memories of the night get hazy. Where is Ellen? He stretches, feeling a pleasant pull in his thighs, and tries to place the noise that woke him. He’s nearly gone back to sleep when he figures it must have been the meadow door leading outside from Jensen’s bedroom. Goddess, had Sam spent the night? He hopes they hadn’t tried anything: they’re horny as any teenagers, but Jensen really hadn’t been in any shape to…

Cas eases himself out of bed. He should check on Jensen, bring him some herbal tea—to strengthen the uterus—see what the kid wants for breakfast.

The tea things are already laid in the kitchen, and two mugs sit on the draining board. Ellen and Sam? Cas wonders what those two had been chatting about! Next to the pot of plain tea is a scrap of paper.

“Sam held his hand; J. took it like a champ,” is all Ellen’s note says.

Oh, Goddess, how had he overslept? Cas hurries in to the large bedroom to check on the little omega. He’s asleep in his nest of pillows, one wedged under his distended belly. Someone has already left a cup of tea on the floor. Jensen’s nightshirt is unbuttoned to the navel, which just popped out a week ago. A faint line runs over the curve of his belly, under the white fabric, down toward his cunt. Above it, his tits are pale and pink-tipped. They’ve deflated a bit as they absorbed the serum, but they’re already softer than they were yesterday morning. The nipples in particular are swollen: each one now bears a small silver ring with a tiny bell and three beads, one for each of the offspring.


	6. waiting ("trying to break him")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> almost at the end of this porny universe. I'll have to go back and add tags: just assume for now that it's all unredeemed filth. Also, as I mentioned to one commenter: if you want to comment with your favorite part/line, I will be gratified and inspired! Plus it will make for fun reading while you wait for the last 2-3 chapters

Jensen’s milk comes in during his 28th week, as early as any other first-time Babymaker recorded in the breeding books, but not early enough to break the 24-week record. No matter, as far as Cas is concerned. It’s worth the wait, because Jensen doesn’t yield any thin, bland colostrum. There’s no inconsistency to the flow, no spotting on his tunic as his body prepares itself, none of the colorless whey some omegas make before birthing. No, when Jensen’s milk comes in, it is abundant, thick and flavorful. When Jensen begins to produce, his body offers up _cream._

Ellen’s treatment has given him a chest appropriate to his station as a breeder carrying triplets. As his belly grows firmer, his tits grow softer. Now they overflow Cas’s hands when he fits them into the milker. They have to rig up a halter to go under his tunic to support them. Before long, they have to make another one, in a larger size. Sam can’t get enough, loves mouthing the thick nipples, tracing the silver-dollar areola with his tongue. The teenaged Alpha sneaks in at least twice a week before school to drain Jensen.

One day, Jensen’s nipples are particularly sensitive, a sensitivity that continues all the way around the globe of his breasts, given his reaction to Cas’s inquisitive fingers. Jensen tries gamely to pretend nothing has changed, as Cas finds a thousand new ways to tease and taunt, to adjust the milker cups, “just a little tighter now,” and… “Sammy,” Jensen gasps finally, almost ashamed. “Sammy what?” That’s how Cas learns the boys have discovered the art of titty-fucking. Jensen has grown too big for some of their more acrobatic positions and the innocent little dears think they have invented this new pleasure.

Cas does the job on days when Sam doesn’t show up by 7:30. Jensen is too tender for anything but a mouth in the mornings and, besides, it’s a pleasure to slide into his warm bed while he’s still relaxed and peaceful with sleep. He sleeps more heavily as the offspring grow. Sometimes he sleeps right through Cas crawling under the covers and unbuttoning his sleep tunic. Cas palms the pale flesh of the kid’s heavy tits, toys with the piercings, waits for his nipples to peak in the early spring chill. Some days, Jensen sleeps straight through until Cas’s warm mouth settles on him, drawing inexorably. His own moans wake him as the luscious tingle of let-down curls through his chest.

Within a month, Jensen is producing so much that he needs to be drained twice a day. Cas consults with Ellen about the wisdom of bottling the milk. One reason omegas’ milk comes in so early is so some of it can be put up and used after the birth. Female Babymakers often carry their offspring for a full 40 weeks, but omegas usually birth earlier. After all, an omega’s pelvis is narrower and with an extra set of internal sexual organs plus the propensity for multiples, there’s simply not room for nine months of development. Having extra milk at hand ensures that omega babies stay healthy despite their slightly earlier births. Could all this milk be a sign that baby’s on the way?

As a midwife, Ellen says, she doesn’t like to interfere too much: yes, Jensen’s belly is enormous, obscene on his lean teenage hips, but that’s to be expected when one considers his size relative to the size of the Alphas that bred him. Jensen is young and strong; he’ll carry to seven months, probably seven and a half, easily. Well, maybe not easily but at the end of the day, Ellen explains, the kid’s an omega, built for breeding and birthing. Start bottling the milk at 34 weeks, she advises Cas. Jensen will probably go into labour around 36 weeks, and it’s best to be prepared with so many hungry mouths to consider. So Cas sets up the milker by the sofa in a spare room and Jensen spends an hour every afternoon dozing to the rattle-click as it suckles away at his newly-engorged tits. He’s so big that it’s hard to find a comfortable position at night, and sometimes the offspring’s movement inside keep him up, so the extra nap is not an entirely futile exercise. Cas keeps a bottle of the yield for porridge and tips the rest of it down the sink: they’ve got weeks to go yet.

As a special treat, sometimes, when Jensen has been particularly diligent at his pre-natal yoga, or when Sam is away hunting, Cas locks the milking room door. Then Jensen’s tits continue to fill all evening, swelling so heavy that Jensen is aware of them with every breath. By dinnertime they are becoming delightfully painful; by the time he takes his evening bath, the warm water makes him moan. The way the nipples pucker around the piercings in the cold when he gets out of the bath is even more sweet torture. And when he sees Cas waiting with the rough towel, stiff from being dried in that afternoon’s sun, Jensen can hardly waddle fast enough. He clambers onto his Keeper’s lap, eager for the scrape of coarse towelling on his bare thighs, his massive belly, and—at last, dear Goddess!—on his bursting tits, aching like bruises. Cas milks him, then, like a cow: fingers pulling steadily until there’s not a drop left. He polishes the boy’s reddened nipples until he is squirming and sobbing and half-hard despite all the oestrogen coursing within him. Finally, Cas sets aside the sodden towel, licks any tears off Jensen’s cheeks and asks if he’d like two fingers or three. Jensen always asks for three (and sometimes begs for four); Cas slides that number into his cunt and lets him rock out a final orgasm, always marveling at how gracefully Jensen works the weight of his stomach.

The weeks tick by, the offspring growing a little larger, but Cas isn’t worried. Jensen took over a dozen full knots, one after the other, on the night he was bred, and he’s taken one knot (ahem, Sam) at least a dozen times since. In addition to assorted unknotted cocks, fingers, and toys, there had been the blissful February afternoon when Cas had built a blazing fire in the bedroom and painstakingly, knuckle by knuckle, worked his whole hand into Jensen’s grasping cunt. Not to mention the day three weeks later when, worn down by their pleading, he’d put Jensen on his lap and held his thighs open to take Sam’s huge fist as well. Jensen’s belly had prevented Cas from seeing the delicate cunt all stretched around Sam’s big wrist, but he’d seen the Alpha’s eyes go wide at the sensation of being swallowed in and heard Jensen’s groan as he’d somehow managed to fit more when he was already stuffed full. “Pull a little,” Cas had instructed, almost breathless with his own arousal and the way Jensen was fidgeting in his lap.

“Pull like your hand is a knot.” And Sam had, tugging just enough to test Jensen’s hold before letting the omega’s body pull him back in.

“Again,” Cas had commanded. That time he’d leaned forward, squashing Jensen slightly, so he could reach down to feel the tight cunt-lips, the way the perineum bulged around Sam’s solid fist.

“Oh, _Goddesssss_ ,” Jensen’s voice had been thready, “They can—feel you.” He’d smoothed his hand along his burgeoning belly, calming the kicking offspring.

“Again.” Cas had watched the muscles of Sam’s shoulder, felt the answering flex of Jensen’s body. “Once more.”

“I’monna come,” Jensen had wailed, high and broken.

“Not yet, lovely,” Cas instructed. “I want you to push first.”

Jensen gasped. “Huh?”

“I want you to push against Sam’s fist, like you want to push it out of you—No,” Cas corrected when he saw Jensen clumsily plant one bare foot against Sam’s shoulder. “Use the muscles inside. Here,” he’d illustrated with his hand, fingers on stretched skin, remembering the day he’d first explained the concept of an egg-sac.

Sweet and obedient, Jensen had tried. Cas had felt him tightening the muscles in his back, in his hips, but none of it translated to a true internal push. Sweating and too full, Jensen had grown frustrated. “Not working,” he huffed fretfully. “Deeper,” Cas had told Sam, re-positioning Jensen on his own lap so the omega was nearly sitting on Sam’s fist.

“Jen—oh, fuck, Jen, I’m touching…” Sam had been so dumbstruck he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“Yeah, womb,” Jensen had grunted, ignoring Sam’s cursing for once. Energized by this new pressure, he’d rolled his hips, rocked his pelvis, flexed his ass. Cas could sense his concentration. Suddenly, Jensen had growled deeply and at the same moment, Sam shouted.

Sam’s eyes were saucers. “You did it! I felt—Jen, you’re amazing! Goddess, you squeezed me so tight…” Cas moved one palm under Jensen’s belly, hooking his thumb around the protruding navel, and he, too, felt Jensen’s second push. Then, when Jensen had a moment to gather himself, a third. Sam’s fist was slowly squeezed lower and lower until once again it bulged behind Jensen’s balls like a giant knot. Cas remembered how Jensen had stretched to take John’s knot, but he didn’t ask Jensen to push the fist all the way out. Instead, he’d let Sam open his fist and the Alpha eased his hand free, almost gently. Only when the last finger had slipped from Jensen’s cunt did Cas realize that the boy had come, possibly twice, given the quantity of spunk on his belly and thighs. He rubbed what he could reach into Jensen’s stomach, feeling the offspring kick and turn beneath the taut skin, and let Sam lick up the rest.

~~~

So Cas knows Jensen’s body will stretch when it needs to, knows he can push more or less on command. He’s always known that the kid could withstand a little pain if there was a pleasurable payoff at the end. There will certainly be enough milk. Really, there’s nothing to worry about. And Cas isn’t worried. Week 34 comes and goes, and Cas starts stockpiling bottles of Jensen’s milk. Week 35, week 36. Cas adds a regular third milking session before bedtime so Jensen’s tits don’t get so full and sore that they leak all over the bedclothes as he sleeps. Week 37 passes and, as always, Cas takes down Jensen’s measurements. He is at capacity: his stomach is no larger than the week before, just tighter. Week 38, and Jensen’s gait changes subtly. He takes shorter steps, fists kneading the base of his spine, his back arching inadvertently to put his enormous belly on display. Ellen examines him and confirms the offspring are dropping lower in his pelvis. But no contractions, no birthing. Week 39: Jensen is nearly full-term for a female, which makes him well overdue for an omega. Cas consults the breeding notebooks; no Babymaker of any type has ever carried this long with triplets. Jensen’s skin is drawn so tightly, you could bounce a quarter off his belly. Sometimes, his cock gets half-hard beneath it, responding to some internal stimulation, some kick or flutter with no outside source.

Ellen returns, sits at Jensen’s bedside and brings up the idea of inducing labor. Alpha sperm softens an omega’s cervix, she explains; a good, hard breeding is the best thing for stimulating labour. Jensen refuses. Everyone knows that if you induce a Babymaker for the first birthing, he or she will never learn to birth naturally. If he gives in now, Jensen can expect to be induced for his next six Babymaker pregnancies, plus any children he bears as a private citizen. The babies are big, that’s all, and if they were bred on him by different Alphas, he maintains, they’re just developing at slightly different rates. It’s the first time Cas has heard Jensen deviate from his private belief that Sam fathered all the offspring. _Now,_ he begins to worry.

The 40th week of pregnancy arrives. Jensen’s stomach is a thing of beauty, a big dome rising from immediately below his ribs, round as the moon and so full it’s almost hard to the touch. He’s so tight that his skin is ironed smooth, barely even stretch marks, just the dark line below a navel that juts out like a nob. When Jensen sits, his firm belly forces his legs wide and forms a shelf for his pillowy tits. On the evening of Second Day, when Cas milks him before bed, the boy feels warm, flushed with more than just the exertion of hauling around the triplets. The next morning, Ellen confirms that he’s slightly feverish, like an omega in the first days of heat. Again, she mentions inducing (“You could even choose the Alpha,” she wheedles, “You’ve been carrying so long, wouldn’t it feel nice to let go?”). Jensen looks at her, sweetly confused, and processes the suggestion so slowly he might as well be in a heat-fog. He’s decisive when he shakes his head, though. The offspring roil below the taut surface as though they can sense Jensen’s heat-like arousal. Sitting is uncomfortable, so Jensen walks—waddles—the courtyard until Sam stops by after school. He spends the afternoons dozing in bed, his tunic rucked up so Sam can rub his stomach or play with his nipples. He’s passive, but still responsive, blushing, moaning, orgasming prettily when Cas fingers him at night. But no contractions, no birthing.

He’s asleep by the time Cas has licked his fingers clean, though he stirs slightly when Cas widens the sprawled legs and angles his fingers toward the uterus.

“Caaas?” Jensen says blearily. His nipples are hard again; since the start of this false heat, he can’t bear to wear his halter. His hips shift slightly: he’s sensitive, but his belly is too big for him to move much. “Nothing, sweetling. Go back to sleep.” Cas finger finds the cervix: it’s still firmly plugged.

Week 41, and Ellen goes to the Council. They debate for five hours, but come to the conclusion that, although the offspring are technically public property, it is extra-legal and probably sacrilegious to force the Babymaker to an induced labor. Besides, they say, a midwife is only a precaution, present at the birthing more for the infants than for the Babymaker. They inadvertently echo Ellen’s own argument: Babymakers are built for this, trained for this. Nearly all birth just fine on their own. Is Ellen perhaps overstepping her remit? Ellen holds her tongue in Council, but to Cas she says they’re all superstitious old Alphas and what do they know about anything. Jensen is young and flexible, but these are Alpha babies, getting bigger every day. No wonder the kid is in the throes of a false heat, she complains to Cas. The boy’s never been stretched so completely in his life! Cas considers this: does Jensen’s body, being new to pregnancy, not realize that it is different from breeding? Has some internal signal failed to register that the point is not to be made as full as possible? Or…he remembers how Jensen needed coaxing to open for his first knot, how he needed to be pleasured to exhaustion before quickening, how shyly greedy Jensen had been for physical pleasure even as a virgin. Maybe Jensen’s body just requires a little more stimulation to follow the usual course of breeding and birthing. Or perhaps he’s just adapted so well to taking the Alpha knot, to carrying their heavy offspring, that he’s not registering the biological imperative that says _too much_.

The forty-second week dawns, and when Cas brings Jensen his morning tea, Sam is already in bed with him, shaggy head obscuring one large tit as he suckles. Jensen smiles at Cas and nudges Sam to the other breast. He combs through Sam’s hair as the Alpha sucks and Sam, in turn, traces comforting circles on Jensen’s belly. Both boys sigh contentedly when Sam finally pulls away and licks his lips.

“Do me favor, Sammy?” Jensen asks as Sam is tying the boots he left by the door.

“Anything, just name it.”

“Stop by Shane’s, see if he can come fuck me today.” Sam’s fingers get tangled in his laces and Cas is aware that his own mouth has fallen open.

“What?” Sam says, at the same moment that Cas says, “Shane?”

“Yeah, d’you remember Shane? From my breeding? Prometheus, some people call him.” Jensen is as casual as if he were discussing the weather. He puts aside his teacup and eases himself up from the bed, belly-first. “He’s got a big cock, and I’m gonna need it if I’m ever going to get these babies out.”

“Today?!” Sam looks delighted. He untangles his fingers and comes over, one boot undone, to wrap his arms around Jensen, cradling his belly from behind. Even with his long arms, his fingertips barely touch at Jensen’s largest point.

“Yup,” Jensen says shortly, relaxing into Sam. “And omegas birth pretty quickly once they get started, right, Cas? So be sure to stop by after school and meet the newest members of the Community.”

“But—why? I mean, I thought you didn’t want…” Cas stutters.

Jensen shrugs, “I’m tired of waiting.” And that is how Jensen, as the reigning Babymaker, decides to bring his first pregnancy to a conclusion.

~~~

But, of course, it won’t be that easy. No sooner does Cas return from explaining the situation to Ellen (“Goddess, it’s about time! Well, you get things started and I’ll drop by in a few hours, when he’s progressed to active labour”), then Sam returns as well.

“Shane’s not here—he’s making a delivery, out of the Community until next Monday.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “I’m the one making a delivery, here. Okay…let me think. Hey, what’s your Dad doing today?” Before Sam can think of how to respond, Cas vetoes the idea.

“You can’t be induced by the head of the Council. Too political. There would be no end to the conspiracy theories and court intrigue.”

“Well, who then? Ellen said Alpha sperm and, not to be indelicate,”—Cas snorts, like that has ever stopped Jensen—“I’m going to need to be stretched something good. So, a big Alpha.” Jensen paces around the room, one hand under his belly for support. “To be honest, some of my breeding night is a little hazy. I remember Shane, and John the Council, and Sam, of course…Was Gabriel there? Oh, but he’s on the Council, too…”

“Let me do it,” Sam interrupts impulsively. “Cas can help, if I’m not big enough, or I’ll take one of those stimulants to bring on a rut, and, and—I’ll leave whenever you want me to, but please, let me try.”

“Sam…Sammy,” Jensen pushes Sam’s hair out of his face, catching his eye, “you know I always want you, but—we can’t keep them, okay?” His voice drops to a private tone, “I mean, if it’s going to be too hard to give up the babies after you help bring on the birth, than you’d better not…” He puts his hands on top of Sam’s where they rest on his belly.

“No. I understand. I understand about the babies; they’re Community offspring and they need to go to the Orphan’s house. I get that.” Sam squares his shoulders, looks up from Jensen’s belly to his face. “I still want to help.”

“Ellen says it has to be hard,” Jensen warns.

Sam ducks in for a kiss that leaves Jensen’s mouth red. “Who’s harder than me, sweet-tits?”

Jensen scowls, “Call me that again and I’ll change my mind.”

~~~

Cas goes to find the cloths and baby clothes that have been ready for weeks while Jensen takes a bath hot enough to ease his over-stretched muscles. When Cas checks back on him, there are a pile of damp towels by the bath and Jensen is back in bed, this time with Sam’s head between his thighs. The little omega is rosy and relaxed from his bath, and Cas can tell from the suppleness of his movements as he crawls on top of Sam that he’s come at least twice on the Alpha’s tongue. Jensen looks best nude; any piece of clothing just tends to emphasize how out of proportion his swollen stomach and tits are: it’s almost too much. But naked, he is all smooth, stretched skin and fertility. Cas helps him balance as he straddles Sam, thighs wide over the Alpha’s powerful hips, and leans forward, his own round belly and hardening cock pressed against Sam’s lean teenaged abs.

Cas runs two clinical fingers from Jensen’s balls to his perineum—and again, and again, until his cunt pouts open and the little bead of his clit appears. Sam’s cock is always thick and long, but today it practically twitches with the excitement of impending birth, the smell of half-heat. Cas wonders if the boy did take some sort of stimulant. Probably didn’t need to: after weeks of shallow penetration and titty-fucks and gentleness, Sam is going to be deep inside his lover again, with the mandate to essentially fuck the offspring out of him. Cas can see the vein on the underside of his cock, the foreskin has rolled back around the heavy, purpled head. Sam curses softly under his breath as Cas—not for the first time—presses that cockhead against the mouth of Jensen’s cunt.

Jensen is too small, Cas always thinks at this point: he’s too small and too young, and stretched as he is, he’ll never—but he does. A brief hesitation and then, with an almost audible snap of his spine, Jensen aligns his hips and takes Sam’s cockhead inside. It’s slow work after that, though: Cas keeps a steady pressure on Jensen’s hips, Sam growls and fists the sheets, and Jensen slowly eases down, opens up. The pregnancy means he produces less slick, so twice Cas has to bring Jensen’s hands to his own tits—“go on, play with them,”—because that always makes him wet. When at last Cas reaches around to jack Jensen’s hot little cock (he’s taken all but two inches, and Sam’s already making furtive little thrusts), he feels a spatter of warm milk on the back of his hand. The boys are still for a moment when Jensen finally takes the last inch.

“Fuck, Jen,” Sam says thickly, running his hands over the omega’s belly. Jensen must feel so tight to him, Cas thinks, probably tighter than he had on breeding day after he’d been plowed by other Alphas all night. “Fuck, look at you, all full up, you’re a goddess.” Then, Sam digs his heels into the mattress and fucks Jensen until the omega is bouncing like a rag doll, the bells in his nipple rings chiming. Sam comes quickly the first time (although, to be fair, it would’ve been hard for him to do anything else, with a very pregnant Jensen moaning “Oh, give it to me, Sammy, I need you,” on every other breath) and Jensen leans down to feed him a tit and whisper something in his ear. When he sits back up again, he has a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Cas,” he calls, “come tell me again how it’s going to be?” For all his teasing about anatomical pillow-talk, hearing about birthing had been Jensen’s favorite bedtime story for a few weeks in his sixth month. He could probably tell the sequence himself. They hadn’t covered induction though, since that was relatively rare. Cas is halfway to the bed, having convinced himself that the kid just needs reassuring when—

“Did you just wink at me?”

Jensen tries to stifle a cheeky smirk. “Please, Cas? It’s my first time. What’s it going to fe—”

“You did, didn’t you?” Cas clambers onto the bed and pulls Jensen against his chest, hearing the omega gasp as Sam’s cockhead rubs him inside. “Here you are, stuffed full of Alpha babies from Alpha spunk, still riding an Alpha cock, and winking at me?” He pinches Jensen’s tits. “You shameless slut!”

The outrage is mostly manufactured: Cas is glad that Jensen is still his usual self, shameless though it may be, that the induction and the birthing aren’t worrying him. But part of him has just watched a pregnant young Babymaker getting beautifully fucked in preparation for birthing, and he’s hard and eager and just maybe jealous.

“Do you think I’ll stretch enough?” Jensen leans forward, showing his cunt, split by Sam’s cock and with just a fringe of white spunk. Most of Sam’s release has already been absorbed; it’s probably softening Jensen’s strong uterus as they speak. Jensen looks over his shoulder at Cas, blinks innocently, “What if I can’t?”

“Come _on_ , Cas,” Sam pleads, muffled against Jensen’s breasts. “Get in him already!” Clearly this is some little fantasy they’ve worked up between the two of them. Who is Cas to refuse?

His own cock looks relatively small when he lines it up next to Sam’s, but when he pushes in alongside, the noises Jensen makes lead him to believe that it doesn’t feel small. Jensen does stretch, though Cas has to grab the boy’s thigh and force his last three thrusts. Wedged in between Sam’s half-knotted cock and Jensen’s full uterus, he’s never felt so much living, moving pressure. At least, not since he was knocked up himself.

“Bet you’re tighter now than when you came to this house,” Cas manages to say when Jensen drops back against his shoulder and offers his mouth up. “Virgin tight. Maybe Sam can ask his Dad,” Cas whispers. Jensen’s eyes snap open and Cas knows then that Jensen hasn’t told Sam that it was John who had put him on his knees and taken his virginity. John, with his big balls and a knot you could see in Jensen’s pelvis. He’d had first crack at Jensen’s fertile young eggs; how many of the babies were his? Cas sucks a kiss to Jensen’s jaw: he’ll never tell.

Cas comes first, which triggers Jensen’s orgasm and that, in turn, pushes Sam over the edge. Cas pulls out, resting for a moment against Jensen’s hot back. “Are you milking him?” he asks finally, “The knot, I mean? You need to get him good and hard if you expect him to break your waters.” Jensen looks like blissful, impaled though he is. He’d happily rock on Sam’s dick forever, babies or not, but it’s been forty-two weeks, so Cas decides that drastic measures are necessary. He gives Jensen’s perfect asscheek a quick, sharp smack and the boy is so surprised that he jumps, involuntarily tightening as he surges forward.

“Oh, sweet _Goddess_ ,” Sam whimpers.

Cas slaps Jensen again. He alternates sides until Jensen’s ass is a uniform pink and the omega is clenching regularly around Sam’s growing knot. At some point, after Ellen has stuck her head in to see how things are going, but before Jensen actually starts wailing with pleasure, the kids roll. Jensen ends up on his back with Sam on his knees. Cas can’t resist kneeling behind him. Sam growls possessively, like his father had during the breeding, but he’s only a boy: Cas swats his thigh and he settles down.

“Slow but hard,” he instructs, putting a guiding hand on Sam’s low back, right above the swell of his ass. “Try to lift his hips up with each thrust. Use every inch of that big cock of yours! And pull on his tits at the same time. Rough. You’re trying to break him.”

Jensen outright sobs with joy the third time Sam drives into his womb, but Cas refuses to let the Alpha slow and soon Jensen is rocking up against each plowing stroke. “Oh, yes, oh yes, harder, Sammy, open me up. We can take it.”


	7. labouring ("you inside me, filling me")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Labor Day to my North American readers, and happy reading to everyone else!  
> This part includes labour, pretty graphic birth--surely that's not a spoiler at this point?--and Sam/Cas-- Don't read it if you don't like it!

Cas helps Jensen turn on the knot, so his back is to Sam’s front and the Alpha can hold him, gentling him as the breeding reflex slowly transitions to the uterine contractions of true labour. Suddenly, Jensen brings one hand up to his belly, as though he has a stitch in his side. His forehead creases with confusion, pain...and then his expression clears: a moment of relief. Sam’s powerful thrusts have burst the amniotic sacs, although his growing knot still holds the waters inside: now the birthing can begin in earnest.

This is the difficult bit, and watching the heaving chests and tangled limbs, Cas isn’t sure who feels the pain more. Sam presses his face against Jensen’s shoulder blade, letting out deep, shuddering breaths as his raw knot is squeezed relentlessly by each new contraction. Jensen, tethered by the knot splitting him open, can’t get enough leverage to force it out. He is running with sweat, eyes half-closed against it, mouth open but silent except when he loses the battle and the knot slides back, deeper. Then he grunts like he’s been punched and starts to push all over again, his body urging him to clear the birth canal before his cervix has dilated completely.

Cas lays down next to him, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes, reminding him to breathe into the contractions. He feels Jensen’s belly go hard with each one and tells him to push with them, not against them. And each time the pain passes and the boys collapse together, Sam’s knot is a little lower. It’s still big, though, only half-milked, and they’re running out of time.

“Help, Cas!” Jensen gasps finally, his voice hoarse and panicked. “I can’t—the babies are coming and… _uhhh_ , I’m too tight.”

Sam, mumbling encouragement despite his own torment, gets his arm under Jensen’s leg and hoists it roughly. For a moment, Cas can see the knot bulging, red and bulbous between Jensen’s pussy lips. Then it retreats back into Jensen as the contraction passes, leaving his wet cunt stretched around the thickness of Alpha cock, the knot still sunk within.

A glimpse of Jensen’s asshole, winking with the effort of the push, gives Cas the idea. He nudges Sam’s lanky leg out of the way, eases behind his gargantuan balls, and gets a finger up against the Alpha’s prostate almost before either of them know what he’s doing.

“On the next contraction, try to pull out,” Cas growls and, after looking at him stupidly for a minute, Sam nods.

“Say when, sweetling,” Sam palms Jensen’s pulsing stomach.

“Okay, okay—oh, _oh, Goddess_ ,” Jensen chokes, “ _Now!_ ”

Each contraction—a tight, internal rippling akin to the breeding reflex—causes Sam to spill a little. Cas can hear Jensen whimpering when it happens, like he craves Sam’s spunk even now. This time, with Cas’s fingers kneading his prostate, Sam spurts enough that the knot shrinks and wedges itself in the mouth of Jensen’s quivering pussy even after the contraction has passed. When the next one comes, the knot is reduced enough and slick enough to pop out when Sam pulls. Sam rolls away, drawing his knees to his chest, panting with relief and tender with hypersensitivity. Jensen orgasms around the gush of fluids and his sudden emptiness; his toes curl with pleasure, the same tell he’s had since he was a virgin.

This orgasm doesn’t stop, but grows into an opening, tearing sensation. Jensen yelps and rolls onto his back, hands clutching his stomach. Cas is there to calm him. “You’re fine. Your cervix is dilated enough: the baby’s just moving out of your womb.” He runs a soothing hand along the boy’s hot, trembling flank.

“Oh, sweet G—oh, fuck, that’s _good_ , Cas. It’s _so good_ ,” Jensen croons, wide-eyed, and his hips begin to circle languorously as his birth canal is filled and stretched from within. His lids flutter, eyes rolling back, his focus gone internal. One hand rides his belly, the other sneaks up to play with his nipples. He makes a satisfied humming sound, broken by little cries whenever the moving baby nudges a nerve.

Cas withdraws to join Sam and watch the performance from the foot of the large bed.

“It’d be easier if he weren’t on his back,” Sam frets. “Gravity,” he explains when Cas gives him a surprised look—though he shouldn’t be surprised that Sam has researched childbirth.

“He’ll turn when the baby moves lower, if he needs to,” Cas says. “Some omegas like to birth on their backs.” Now it’s his turn to get a surprised look. “They like the, er, stretch,” he offers, trying to sound objective.

“He was on his back when I bred him,” Sam recalls nostalgically, “that first time, in your lap.”

“Exactly.”

Jensen comes twice more as the baby descends and is so loose-limbed that Cas and Sam have to help him squat when the baby starts to crown. The boy’s body goes tight as a piano wire in their arms, undulates twice from his knees to his neck, then sags heavily. Jensen cries out, sweet and high, as Ellen leans in to catch his first son.

The young omega falls back on the pillows, laughing and crying at the same time, shivering with exertion as the infant roots for a nipple. Cas can barely get the piercing out before the hungry newborn latches on. Jensen laughs with delight: “Look! Look at ‘im, Sammy, he’s perfect.”

~~~

Jensen nurses as long as he can. When he feels the second baby moving into his birth canal, he turns to labour on his knees, leaning on his forearms with his tits hanging down so the first baby can still suckle. “Okay,” he gasps finally, his hips twitching, “Ellen, you’d better take this one. His brother’s on his way and— _uh,_ _uh,_ Goddess!—he’s— _fuck_ , he’s biiig!”

This time, Jensen clings to the headboard as the child moves lower. His hips begin to roll, and then to snap, and soon it looks like he is being fucked from behind—deeply, brutally—by an invisible lover. His cock gets hard, strings of pre-cum leaving wet marks where it slaps his large belly.

“That looks…” Sam starts, and then seems to run out of words. At some point before the first baby, Ellen had draped a sheet around his wide shoulders but it’s fallen open. Cas wonders if the boy realizes he’s cupping his own balls, his cock hardening despite Jensen’s previous abuses.

“The baby is rubbing against his prostate,” Cas explains, barely able to take his eyes from the little laboring omega.

“That’s where you touched me, before?”

“That’s the one.”

“And he’s got _twelve pounds_ of baby pressing on it?!”

“Moving against it, is more like, every time he has a contraction. And I think twelve pounds would be a conservative estimate.”

“Goddess…!” Sam sounds almost jealous.

At that moment, Jensen drops to his hands and wide-spread knees. “Oh, oh, it’s coming Ellen— _I’m_ coming...”

“Hold it in, Cas,” Ellen calls from the other side of the room where she is bottle-feeding the first baby, now swaddled.

“What?” Cas and Jensen speak at the same time, though Jensen definitely sounds more desperate.

“Put your hand on him,” Ellen snaps impatiently, “hold that baby in for at least thirty more seconds—count if you have to!” And then, more gently, “This baby is bigger, Jensen. You need more time to stretch or you’ll tear, and you’ve still gone one more in there.”

So Cas crawls across the rumpled sheets from his post at the foot of the large bed. He gently cups his hand against Jensen’s slick, open cunt. “Twenty-nine,” he whispers, not pressing, just holding the boy together, oh so carefully, to keep him from shattering. “Twenty-eight, twenty-seven…”

“ _Ahhhh_ , but Cas….he’s so _heavy_ ,” Jensen wails, looking over his shoulder, his hips jerking with the effort of holding back. His pelvic muscles slip once and a curve of wet skull kisses Cas’s palm. It works, though, because when Cas reaches “three, two, one,” and moves his hand, there’s a moment of total stillness. Then all the muscles in Jensen’s back twist—once, twice—and his cuntlips bloom around a large, dark head. The second of the offspring, all fifteen squalling pounds of him, is birthed in three smooth pushes.  Jensen’s toes curl tighter with each one.

~~~

Ellen moves her hands over Jensen's back and belly, and assures him that he has some time before baby number 3 makes an appearance.  She settles the weary omega against a pile of pillows, one baby at each breast, and shoos Cas out of the room with orders to put Sam to bed before he falls asleep where he sits.

Cas thinks that’s unlikely—Jensen in the throes of orgasmic birth is enough to keep anyone awake—but it’s true that Sam has been up since dawn, never mind being subjected to some very athletic sex. The Alpha goes surprisingly willingly once he sees Jensen engaged with the babies. He lets Cas lead him down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms, still wearing his sheet like a toga.

Sam stops suddenly at the sight of the bed, maybe thinking of the first time he’d been bedded in this house. “Jen looked like he was really enjo—I mean, that was very…” He stutters into silence. He looks dazed, like he’s just waking up from a blow to the head. Cas can’t tell how much of it is exhaustion, how much hormonal—Jensen’s contractions had started in earnest before Sam had ever finished his knotting cycle—and how much of it is shock from having witnessed the birth. It’s not something most Alphas ever see. As far as most of them know, birthing is painful and degrading, fit only for the lesser types.

“He was. Enjoying it, that is,” Cas assures him. “There’s got to be some recompense for carrying that big belly all those months. Omegas aren’t stupid, boy. If it wasn’t fun, the Babymaker system would never have lasted this long.” He takes Sam’s big paw in his hand and tugs him toward the clean white bed. Sam resists for a moment, and then follows, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He’s looking up at Cas when suddenly his eyes clear a little. He breathes in deeply, his gaze sharp, and then suddenly gathers Cas to him, pressing his face to Cas’s tunic.

“You smell like him,” Sam says into Cas’s chest.

Cas has no idea what happened to his leggings after he’d peeled them off this morning, but given the amount of slick and sweat and pheromones Jensen has been pumping out for the last six hours, any fabric in the room must have been redolent. Sam’s sheet probably smells the same. What Sam is smelling, what is causing him to rut a little against Cas’s thigh, isn’t _Jensen_ : it’s _omega_. Cas gently combs his fingers through Sam’s shaggy hair, the way he’s seen Jensen do dozens of times, and Sam nuzzles harder. He rubs his cheek against Cas’s tunic, his big hands closing on Cas’s hips.

“Have you been carrying a knot since this morning?” Cas asks. “Poor boy!” The young Alpha had been denied right at the height of his knotting, forced out of Jensen’s cunt by the early contractions, and forgotten in the excitement of birth. Thinking on it, Cas is amazed that the kid hasn’t said anything before now. Shy, sweet Sammy.

Sam pulls back a moment, eyes darting as his finely tuned senses register something new. Then he’s pushing up Cas’s tunic, his gaze settling on Cas’s nipples: they are the size and color of ripe raspberries.

Cas doesn’t say anything until Sam’s thumb has pressed and explored and coaxed out a thin trickle of milk. It runs down the corrugated skin over his ribs, down his flat belly. Sam intercepts it with his tongue, traces it back to the source.

“Ellen gave me the injections,” Cas explains at last, his breath short, “so I could help Jensen feed, be his milk surrogate.” Without pregnancy hormones and a hefty dose of Alpha DNA in his uterus, Cas can only express milk when he’s being stimulated. That means he won’t get breasts as large as Jensen’s, but the suckle and pull of Sam’s hot, wet mouth still yields the same result. Before long, he is _pouring_ down the Alpha’s throat and, when Sam’s milk-slicked hand settles into a slow stroke on his cock, he feels his balls start to fill. Unlike Jensen, Cas had rarely ever gotten more than half-hard during his pregnancies—every body’s different. So the feeling of being milked _both ways at once_ is entirely new. He comes quickly and so hard.

Cas’s legs are shaking; Sam has to guide him onto the bed, arranging him with a few quick, proprietary moves. Then he sits there, licking cum from his hand and watching with hooded, desirous eyes. He’s not a horny kid now, colluding with Jensen to tease the Keeper; he’s an experienced breeding Alpha seeing an aroused, milk-producing omega. Little Sammy is still in there, of course: Cas could shut this down with a word. He’s the true adult here—Goddess, he’d helped this boy lose his virginity to the other boy currently in labour down the hallway. Of course, that had been months ago: Sam’s not so innocent now. And he’s been waiting so long: his thick, heavy cock lolls against one thigh, a partially-blown knot just visible.

And Cas—well, Cas has been waiting a long time, too. He’d taken the job as a Keeper because, after seven years of sleeping around on hiatus, he’d felt the need to return to the Community and consider his purpose: could there be a middle ground between living for the Community and living for his own physical pleasure? These last months had been months of service. He’d set aside the needs of his own body for those of the Babymaker’s. Well, mostly. There had been Ellen. And Gabriel. And now, what about Sam, his charge’s lover? Cas considers the knot. He could, as a Community sexual health professional, get Sam on his knees, put two fingers up his ass, and work him until that knot deflated completely. It would take a long time and, given how raw Sam must be after Jensen’s contractions, it might be a little painful. But it would do the job.

Or he could milk this boy the way nature intended.

Sam takes one of Cas’s nipples between thumb and forefinger. Clearly he’s thinking of the rings Ellen had put through Jensen’s tits, not realizing they were a way to document his fertility after the quickening, not part of the injection process. “You’re not pierced,” the Alpha observes.

“Well.” When the Alpha shifts on the bed, Cas can see Sam’s balls, big and loaded behind the knot. That makes up his mind: he wants them. “Well, that’s because I’m not pregnant.”

Cas slides onto his knees, dropping his head lower than his hips, a sweetly submissive pose not unlike the one that Jensen had just adopted while birthing. It’s probably not a position that Sam and Jensen had been able to enjoy much, given how quickly Jensen’s stomach had grown, but somehow Sam’s inner Alpha recognizes it as the best for breeding. Sam’s eases his hand off Cas’s nipple, lower, onto his flat belly. Cas feels that palm hot as a brand and spreads his legs wantonly, aware of the slickness between them: that won’t smell like Jensen. He sees Sam’s broad chest rise and fall as he breathes it in, sees the boy’s eyes widen as the scent registers. There is a ceremonial invitation that the Babymaker issues to his or her first breeding-day Alpha. Jensen had forgotten it when confronted by John the Council’s cock, and Sam has never heard it, not having been Jensen’s first. So Cas skips directly to the last line: he looks into Sam’s dilated pupils, and then drops his head meekly. “Come to me, Alpha.”

Sam is _huge_ , wider than he looks, each inch a new invasion against Cas’s plush interior. Moreover, his knot is almost half-blown. Why hadn’t Cas thought to prepare him by mouth first? No matter: Cas has been bred seven times and birthed more than that; he knows how to make himself open. He drops his hips, arches his back, presses his little tits into the mattress, digs his hands into the bedclothes. He is vaguely aware that Sam is fucking truly unearthly sounds out of him, but it can’t be helped: his mouth has fallen wide, he can taste the head of that tremendous cock in his _throat_. Sam bends over him and bites his shoulder as his knot squeezes in. He’s whining, raw-sore from being wrenched about by Jensen’s contractions, but biologically unable to resist the new omega in front of him. Cas frees one hand and reaches for what he can: it flails and lands with a sweaty slap on Sam’s thigh, aligned behind his own, and he grasps the muscle there until the Alpha’s pain subsides a little. He feels that muscle tremble a split-second before Sam thrusts into him. The knot gets bigger each time it runs over Cas’s g-spot: it must be the size of a plum, of an orange, of a fist holding an orange.

I’ve had _babies_ smaller than this knot, Cas thinks hysterically, and it’ll explode when he finally comes. _I’ll_ explode. He loses count of the pounding thrusts and then Sam’s cockhead bumps something deep inside and Cas’s hips jump automatically.

 _Too deep, too big, too much,_ Cas body says, and pulls away before he can override the impulse. But Sam wraps him in his big arms and tugs him back, onto the cock.

“No,” he growls as though Cas had spoken, “mine,” and then, like he recognizes the pain-pleasure grunts escaping Cas’s mouth, his big palm comes to rest right over where his knot is throbbing. “Womb,” he says.

“Ye-es,” Cas whines, feeling the knot pop fully, unfurling gloriously within him. “Where—where the baby goes.”

Cas is not as slim as Jensen; he’s not sure anyone would be able to see the knot pushing through his body, but he can feel it when he runs his palm over his stomach. It fills his hand.

Sam licks the bitemark he put into Cas’s shoulder and, now that the frenzy of knotting is over, seems to regain some of his vocabulary. “C’n I fill you, Cas? Put babies inside you?” He sounds so young, asking permission when the deed is done, that Cas doesn’t have the heart to tell him there won’t be babies, not this time. It’s gratifying, though, to hear his own name: Cas had chosen their fucking position because it had allowed Sam to get into him so deeply, but he also to avoid having the young Alpha face-to-face. Nice to know Sam hadn’t been imagining Jensen the whole time. He brings Sam’s big hand around, lays it over the knot.

“That’s you,” he whispers, “that’s you inside me, filling me.”

They stay there, Cas impaled on Sam, four hands on his stomach, until the breeding reflex kicks in and Cas has to move. He milks quickly: after so much pleasure, he craves the delightful ache of pulling against such a big, unyielding knot, like stretching after a long nap. When Sam finally spills inside, Cas is so surprised he tumbles forward. All this time, he’s imagined that Jensen was deluding himself when he insisted that Sam had sired his offspring. After all, Jensen had been so far in heat, his fertile eggs just begging for sperm, and he’d been bred by—what? a dozen horny, full-grown experienced Alphas? More? He’d barely had the energy to open his legs by the time stripling Sam had come along. But now, the floods of hot spunk spurting with such force that Cas can feel each thick jet distinctly splash against his cervix, Cas has no doubt that Sam could have beaten all the other Alphas to the prize. Cas knows, he knows, that he can’t fall pregnant while he’s nursing. It’s impossible, biologically, hormonally. And that’s a good thing; even an omega can’t be pregnant all the time. But he sprawls onto the sheets, so cool on his overheated body, hanging off Sam’s knot as the Alpha groans behind him, and strokes his belly as it swells with each pulse deep inside. And he thinks, if anyone could knock him up now, it would be Sam.


	8. birthing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the porn epic!

Afterwards, Cas pulls Sam on top of him, enjoying the weight of him, and lets the Alpha suck his tits until he falls asleep, finally exhausted. When he sits up, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the far wall. His nipples are enlarged and vivid; his belly as round as though he’s nearing his second trimester. He feels the liquid weight when he stands; he moans at the familiarity of it. Almost as soon as he registers his new, lower center of gravity, though, he feels the slickness dripping out of him.

Goddess, there’s so much of it! He kneels besides the bed, on the sheet that Sam had discarded, and wraps one hand around his cock. He slips two fingers from the other into his open cunt and begins to work. Sam’s spunk is so extraordinarily thick that he can feel his belly shrinking as each orgasm pushes a little more of it out. Biting his lip, Cas puts his head against the mattress and rolls his hips; he imagines he is birthing.

~~~

The bedrooms in the House of the Babymaker are nearly sound-proofed, but the hallways are not. When Cas slips out into the hallway, leaving Sam asleep behind him, he can faintly hear Jensen’s high-pitched, breathy cries. As he draws closer to the Babymaker’s bedroom, something in the sounds starts a needling feeling under his tunic. It isn’t soothed until he enters the room and Ellen hands him a baby—the second, still hungry, always hungry—and he brings it to suckle while she goes to attend Jensen. The infant latches quick and strong. Cas studies him: even now he can see it has Winchester coloring.

Meanwhile, the boy who birthed him is on his back, propped up on his elbows, the position inefficient but pleasurable as a new child leaves his womb. His belly has barely shrunk; with each contraction, it tightens, hips lifting as though pulled by invisible strings. Untouched, his tits are streaming, full again, and eventually Ellen calls Cas over. She doesn’t quite trust Jensen to hold the feeding baby himself, since his whole body shakes each time its sibling rolls over some delicious nerve inside. However, after some maneuvering, Jensen ends up half-sitting against Cas’s chest, and Cas wraps his arms around to so hold the baby in front of them both. Jensen relaxes visibly when the little mouth finds a fat pink nipple.

“There y’are, beauty,” Jensen slurs, bringing unsteady fingers up to trace a tiny ear.

Cas nuzzles Jensen’s temple, where his hair has curled with sweat. “Don’t you want to be on your knees?” he suggests. Given the tension in Jensen’s back, soon the boy will have to really push.

“Don’ wanna stop,” Jensen mumbles, eyes closing in satisfaction. He bites his lip until the next ecstatic wave passes. “Be full forever. She’s so nice inside me. Feels good.”

“C’mon, Jen, you know it’s time. Why don’t you push on the next one?” Cas wheedles, moving the baby to the other tit.

“Y’smell like Sammy,” Jensen smiles without opening his eyes, clearly not listening to a work Cas is saying. Ellen’s strong hands have been massaging Jensen’s belly and the kid sighs—a long, breathy _Ahhhh_ —when the offspring inside settles into the lowest part of his pelvis. Jensen seems content to leave it there, bobbing between his prostate and his g-spot, setting off small orgasmic tremors but nothing substantial enough to open his cunt. He’s tired, Cas senses, nearly worn out from too much sensation, unable to coordinate a true push. After all, this is the same little omega who had nearly passed out from his first prostate orgasm, who had been overwhelmed by his first experience with the milker, who’d had to be carried to bed after his Presentation ceremony. After the rough fucking to end his long pregnancy and the hard, fast labour to yield two large offspring, Jensen’s had enough.

Ellen gently dislodges the second baby from Jensen’s tit, ready to carry him over to sleep in the large Moses basket beside his brother. “Jensen, sweetheart, it’s time to push,” she says.

“Nnnn,” Jensen burrows against Cas.

“That’s right, lovely,” Cas deliberately misunderstands, “Make as much noise as you want to. Empty your diaphragm, empty your belly, gotta be empty so those Alphas can fill you up again.”

That gets Jensen’s interest, as Cas thought it might. “Wanna be full again,” he groans. The little omega lets Cas lift him to his knees, open his slim soft thighs, pliable as a doll.

“Yeah?” Cas reaches around the boy’s belly for his hardening cock. “Quads this time? Quintuplets?” He lets his voice drop to a dirty whisper. “Think how big you’d be with five of Sam’s babies in you…yes, yeah, like that, move your hips, work that baby free so we can put more in you.”

Jensen is so ready, it’s barely ten minutes before he begins to make those throaty rhythmic sounds that Cas always thinks of as his fucking whimpers—the quiet _unh, unh, ah!_ that he doesn’t even realize he makes when he’s being stretched by a knot. He’s being stretched now: Cas can feel it in the roll of his hips, the way his ass flexes and lifts. When Cas moves his hand under Jensen’s tight little balls, the boy’s cuntlips are fluttering from the pressure within. Cas puts two fingertips against his clit, gives him something to rub against even as he’s reciting, “Don’t come, not yet. Hold on!” But Jensen is young and exhausted and not used to denying himself: he _does_ come, convulsing, bright-eyed and flushed prettily. Cas lets him rest for a few breaths. Then they start over.

Cas wraps his arms around his charge, thinking how he’s trained the boy up from bashful virginity for this moment of ripeness. He has two fingers up Jensen’s ass to monitor the contractions from the inside, the other hand alternately jacking his hot little cock to keep his hips moving or checking the dilation of his pussy. Ellen stands by with swaddling clothes and a knife for the cord, ready to catch. So near, so near, the boy is trembling with the fullness of it, back arched, legs splayed. But again, the goodness is _too_ good: inside, the baby slithers over Jensen’s g-spot and he comes before he can get her beyond the mouth of his cunt.

The third time, leaning still more heavily on Cas, Jensen’s whimpers transition into moans. Low and deep and almost musical, the cries are timed with the pulsing of his belly. He is practically singing out his pleasure as the baby crowns, splitting the tender, sensitive cunt already stretched to its limits by her big brothers. Cas watches the boy’s delicate toes tighten and relax, tighten and relax, as he tosses his head, gasping and shaking and pushing this last baby into the world. His red cock spurts and leaks, swollen and neglected against his belly. Below it, his vulva is like thin, wet silk pulled taut around the head of this last baby. Cas’s thumb strokes him there, asking wordlessly for just a little more. The pleading look Jensen gives him in reply is disbelieving: _How am I here, feeling this? So much! And_ still _not enough?_ The kid licks his bitten lips, panting, desperate for this final climax. Cheeks stained a fevered pink, strands of sweaty hair plastered to his furrowed forehead, Jensen looks nearly delirious. He’s wrecked, wild-eyed, impossibly young, but still trained to obey: he grips the bedclothes tighter and wills himself open a moment longer. His heels scrabble for purchase; his straining thighs part a fraction wider; his pelvis tips up, up, offering... The double orgasm that finally crashes down as he is breached, first by the baby’s shoulders, then by her hips, makes Jensen’s eyes roll back into his head. Cas wouldn’t say the kid fully returns to consciousness until Ellen places the swaddled baby on his chest, steadying it with her capable hand, and the eager little mouth fastens on.

~~~

Nearly two weeks later, Cas is left in charge of the babies when Ellen invites Jensen to her house for lunch. Other than a ceremonial reception, it’s the first time Jensen’s left the House since he was delivered of the offspring. It’ll be good for the boy to get out; he’s been moping a bit since Sam left on a hunting trip. Cas warms a bottle of omega milk to feed the babies. He goes in birth order, settling each one down for a nap afterwards. When the little girl has nearly drunk her fill, though, he sets the bottle aside, unbuttons his tunic, and gives her his nipple. He’s just settled into the enjoyable animal haze of feeding when he hears a knock on the door.

It’s Gabriel so Cas doesn’t bother to cover himself. The baby girl is finished, just suckling sleepily for comfort, and it’s nothing Gabriel hasn’t seen before.

Gabriel puts down the tray he’s carried from the kitchen and peeks into the blankets. He strokes the infant’s cheek, gentle. “What do you think? She one of John’s?” He speaks quietly enough not to rouse her from her near-sleep.

“She does have that Winchester look.” Cas says, surprised that Gabriel had noticed. Most of the Council has little use for the offspring as individual babies: they are content as long as the numbers are enough to stock the orphan House, as long as the breeding ceremony goes as it always has, as long as there is a fertile omega to plow every spring. Gabriel, Cas vaguely remembers from before his hiatus, had always been good with the Community children.

Cas won’t say it—discretion is the watchword of a Keeper—but he thinks the girl might be Sam’s. Maybe the first boy, too. In Cas’s professional opinion, only the second boy, the one so large he’d nearly torn Jensen, is definitely John’s.

“Shall I?” Gabriel whispers, and Cas allows him to take the sleeping child. The Alpha shifts her into her basket so gently she doesn’t even wake. When he returns to sit with Cas, he has a cup of tea. “Keep your strength up,” he says.

Cas accepts the cup, settling back into the cushions, sleepy and relaxed himself.

“I didn’t realize…” Gabriel clears his throat, still speaking in a hush. “I mean, that you were feeding them. Uhm, yourself.”

“Milk surrogate,” Cas explains, letting his eyes drift closed. “Though we’ve got enough of Jensen’s put up to last us almost until weaning, probably.” Jensen’s milk production hasn’t slackened at all since the births, and Cas isn’t sure whether that’s due to the injections or to the many needy mouths.

“Well, he certainly carried long enough. Must’ve suited him, pregnancy,” Gabriel remarks. The silence that follows is warm and companionable. Cas thinks he could almost drop off himself if his breasts weren’t so full. The prickle of milk is enhanced by the imagined heat of Gabriel’s gaze. Cas doesn’t need to open his own eyes to know where Gabriel’s are fixed. He lowers the cup to his lap, breathes deeply, enhances the view.

“I like it,” he says quickly, keeping his eyes closed. “I want…it feels good—right—having a mouth on me…” Cas isn’t sure how else to make the offer without soundly like a mindless slut, but Gabriel understands. His fingers are rough, palms more work-worn than Sam’s, but his tongue is wet and gentle. Gabriel kneels in front of Cas’s chair, gently lifting the cup from between his thighs and replaces it with his hand. He can take Cas’s whole little breast into his mouth, and he does, suckling him dry. When Gabriel finally lifts his head to move to the other tit, Cas simply slips off the cushions and into his lap.

“You looked so good, nursing. Taste even better,” Gabriel mumbles, teasing Cas’s left nipple with little licks. “Tell me you want more, more babies. You were meant for it, made to be bred up and full…”

Cas gasps, pulling Gabriel’s head against his tits. _More babies_. It can’t happen now. Yes, he’s off his suppressants, to keep his milk clean, but he cannot be impregnated while he is still producing. However, in the few weeks after the offspring are weaned and sent to the Orphan House, his milk will dry up. Jensen must be celibate during this period: the Council will confirm that he is not pregnant at the ceremony before his next breeding, as they had once confirmed his virginity. _Cas_ , however, has no such restriction. Even if he stays on as Keeper, his private life is his own. Unsuppressed, after the hormonal havoc of milking, he will be frantically fertile. His eggs will be so ready. The biology is incontrovertible: if Gabriel is the first Alpha to knot him once his milk dries up, it _will_ be Gabriel who sires his next baby.

 _Babies_ , plural: Cas is aware of his plump egg-sacs even now, as he crouches on the floor rubbing up against Gabriel. Goddess, he’s good for twins or maybe triplets. If he gets knocked up before the next breeding ceremony and decides to stay on as Keeper? He imagines himself assisting during the boy’s second breeding, smelling the heat knowing that he himself is already bred up, a delicious, still-invisible secret.

“Goddess, I want to be in you,” Gabriel pants, frantically peeling off Cas’s clothing. “Say I can. I’m gonna make you so big,” he promises, milk-warm mouth kissing each word into Cas’s body—nipples, flat belly, soft cock, wet cunt.

“Yes,” Cas whimpers, “Please, yes. More.” His mind is swirling with fantasies. A baby of his own. He thinks how he’d grown to enjoy caring for Jensen these past month, making sure the boy was properly fed and well-trained. He remembers how his breasts had ached to hear the kid’s birthing cries, like his body had adopted Jensen as his own. He feels himself turning, automatically presenting itself to Gabriel, the Alpha begging to breed him.

Cas folds his arms onto the seat of the chair, drops his head, spreads his legs to show his cunt. Gabriel’s cock is familiar: long and slim, big-headed. They both grunt when that head taps Cas’s womb. _Ungh, Goddess,_ Gabriel always touches so deeply inside. Cas remembers how Jensen had quieted himself against Ellen’s tits when Gabriel had bred him the first time. As a member of the Council, Gabriel will have his turn inside Jensen again this next breeding cycle. Fuck, Cas might hold the kid’s thighs apart to help him take a knot whose seed is already blooming in his own belly. And in the subsequent months, he and Jensen would become large and heavy together, carrying babies that could even be half-siblings. He would quicken first—Cas just _knows_ Gabriel’s babies will be big and active—and Jensen would feel the gentle flutters soon after.

Jensen will know what to expect this time; there will be less work now that he’s experienced it all once. More time for other things, other pleasures. Sam hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Jensen’s swelling belly; would he want Cas too? Maybe Gabriel could be persuaded to share. Would Cas be fertile enough to…? No, sweet Goddess, there’s no way he could carry Sam’s babies _and_ Gabriel’s: he’d be _so big_ … Just the thought makes him groan and go tight inside, so tight that Gabriel swears and bucks his hips.

Cas drops more of his weight onto the Alpha, letting himself be split. He runs lust-clumsy fingers over his soft cock down to where Gabriel’s heavy balls slap his needy cunt with every thrust. Cas rocks into it and presses a hand against his stomach, feeling the Alpha beneath his fingers. If he falls pregnant before the breeding ceremony, he’ll be quite large by the time of the Presentation. He’d have to maneuver his own large belly while Ellen examines Jensen’s. Gabriel and the rest of the council will be watching, imagining the acts that make omega bellies so large. Gravid omegas living in close proximity often fall into sync hormonally, becoming broody or going into labour or even coming into their milk at the same time. Cas’s nipples are already sore from rubbing against the cushion he’s being fucked into. Will his pregnant tits produce as well and as richly as Jensen had? They’ll have to get a second milker, more bottles. Or share, one being milked by machine while feeding from the other. They both like the mouth; they will argue over who has to settle for the machine’s suckling cups. Jensen will sulk when it is his turn; Cas will make it up to him.

The knot is starting. Cas feels it catching his rim every so often. His vision sparks each time Gabriel’s cock nudges his cervix. His eager cunt throbs in time with his thundering heartbeat. Cas wants to scream with impatience; Goddess, he needs to be full. His mind summons an image of how full Jensen had been at the end. Knowing what they do—that Jensen will need to be induced, that he must be forced to release its offspring—they won’t wait so long this second time. Especially if he proves fecund enough to carry multiples again, if Sam does breed quadruplets on him. In that case, Cas might still be pregnant, far gone but not yet delivered, when Jensen begins to labour. This last time, as just a milk surrogate, he’d felt Jensen’s birthing cries in his chest; when he is pregnant, the boy’s sounds will make his milk let down in torrents. He remembers holding the boy’s slippery, shivering body against his own, supporting him as he’d moaned and worked to push out the last baby. Being skin to skin with the laboring boy while his own belly is so full and tight, heavy on his spreading hips—that is the image in Cas’s mind when Gabriel’s knot finally pops, catapulting them into orgasm.

Cas burns with an internal supernova, hot and bursting, as he comes in long, wracking spasms. Only gradually does he become aware of Gabriel’s strong hands kneading his thighs. He releases his fingers from where they have grasped the cushion—his toes have curled so tightly they cramp—and drops one hand to his stomach. Gabriel’s big knot is a surprise after his long, slender cock. Cas can feel it in his low belly and, above it, distinct as a walnut behind his belly button, the cockhead spurting against his womb. Gabriel’s whole body shakes when Cas touches himself there. Cas had wanted to turn so that Gabriel could feel his belly filling between them but already the knot is too big: the stretch of it makes his breath catch and sets off another climax. If this were a true breeding, he’d be locked until he was pregnant. As it is, he tugs Gabriel’s arms t encircle his hips and arches his back so those big Alpha paws can cradle his belly, slowly but undeniably swelling. This is not a real breeding. It’s just—well, call it practice; but look at how well all that practice had served Jensen. Cas gasps as his uterus contracts, the muscle clenching in a curious mix of pleasurable pain that is like nothing except birthing. In a moment, he knows, the breeding reflex will start and he will be lost to the demands of his omega biology, milking the Alpha knot that fills him until he is full in a different way. While he can still think straight, he leans forward into Gabriel’s arms, groaning against the pull of the knot, and sinks his teeth into a cushion. Nearby, the Community’s newest offspring—Mary, Adam, and little Dean—are still sleeping; it wouldn’t do to wake them.


End file.
